All I Want for Christmas is You
by AnneM.Oliver
Summary: All Draco wants for Christmas is Hermione, and he only has twelve days to prove it, and he'll do it one day at a time. New Year's Eve epilogue added!
1. Chapter 1 A Partridge in a Pear Tree

All characters belong to JK Rowling

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**All I want for Christmas is You**

**by **

**Anne M**

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**Part I: A Partridge in a Pear Tree:**

"What a git," Draco muttered under his breath.

"Excuse me?" Hermione raised her head from her desk and questioned the man sitting at his desk on the other side of the room. Draco was reading a story in the _Daily Prophet_, and he proceeded to fold the paper in half, hit it on the side of the desk, and repeat his sentiment without explanation to the woman in the room.

"What a total, unmitigated git!" he barked louder.

"Don't put yourself down like that," Hermione said as a joke. She placed her quill back in the inkwell and stood to walk over to the other side of the room. Draco's eyes followed her. They always did. He found that he watched her all the time. He hated that.

She walked back to her desk and without preamble, without explanation, and without order, she held her hand out toward Draco, sat back down and said, "Let me see."

Draco opened the paper, tore out the page in question, and balled it in his fist before he threw it halfway across the room. It landed on Hermione's desk, but not before it thumped her on the chest. She rubbed her chest, even though it didn't hurt. Draco watched that little action intently, too. He had never wished to be a piece of rubbish more than when that little piece touched her chest.

She unfolded the paper, smoothed out the wrinkles, and perused the page. Then she saw the source of Draco's assessment. She made a funny face, balled the page back into its nice little ball, and tossed it over her shoulder. It missed the trash bin by a meter.

"I share your assessment," she began. "What a git. However, you mustn't let things like this get you down, Malfoy. It's almost Christmas time, so be happy."

Draco pointed to the paper on the floor and said, "But that wanker is marrying the woman I dated for two years! And he's doing it on New Years Eve, for Merlin's sake. I always wanted to get married on New Year's Eve!"

"Oh bollocks," Hermione snorted. "You never wanted to get married, hence the reason she's marrying him, not you. Do you really care?" She leaned her chin on one hand and stared at him with her big brown eyes.

Did he really care that his one time friend, Theo Nott, was marrying his one time favourite slag-slash-shag Pansy Parkinson? Not in the slightest. However, the first part of her sentence had a dash of falsehood in it. It wasn't that he never wanted to marry. He just never wanted to marry Pansy. "What would you know about it, Granger? You're all ensconced in your happy little romance with the red headed vermin known as Weaslebee. By this time next year you'll be married, and probably have ginger-haired triplets on the way, so keep your opinions to yourself."

She laughed and said, "This is why I love working with you, Malfoy. You're ever so much fun, especially in the mornings, and you brightening all my days with your happy disposition." She laughed again.

He loved when she laughed, and hence the problem. True, he could care less that Pansy and Theo were marrying. However, the thought of their upcoming nuptials only served to remind him that soon Granger and Weasley would wed, and that thought caused him true, literal pain, somewhere around the chest area, where he might or might not have a heart. "Shut it," he said, less than eloquently.

She had the gall to laugh a third time. She stood up and walked over to a file cabinet. She bent down to look in a middle drawer. Draco watched her as intently as ever, especially as she had a skirt on today, and when she bent down, he could see more of her legs. He loved watching her. He loved watching her move, he loved watching her walk, he loved the way she twirled her hair when she was reading, he loved the way she bit the end of a Muggle pen when she was writing her reports. He watched her all the time. Granger watching was one of his favourite pastimes. When he first started working with her at the Ministry, here in the Muggle Liaison department, he thought it would be hell.

Instead, the last year had been heaven. He had a massive crush on his former nemesis, only crush wasn't the right word. He thought he might love her. Who would have thought it possible? Once, just looking at her made him want to vomit. Now, looking at her made him want to do other bodily functions, and none of them had anything to do with vomiting. Heaven help him.

He moaned and closed his eyes.

Next thing he knew, she was behind his desk. He felt her before she even spoke. From behind his chair she said, "Are you really taking it that badly? I didn't even think you had dated Pansy in a long time."

Draco thought, 'let's play on her sympathies,' and said, "That doesn't mean I'm not missing what might have been, Granger. I know you think I'm a hardhearted prick, but I have feelings, too, you know?"

He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt her hand on his shoulder. She rubbed her hand back and forth, before giving him a small pat. "I'm sorry, Draco. I know you have feelings. I know you're a changed man. I'm sorry if you're in pain." Then randomly she said, "Your sweater is very soft."

He looked over his shoulder at her, and said, "Your sweater looks soft, too." Damn, what a stupid thing to say.

But she smiled and said, "It should be soft, it cost an arm and a leg. It's cashmere, which I suspect yours is as well. Here, feel mine."

WHAT? He swiveled his chair to face her, his face a mask of confusion, however, many a fantasy had started with him in his chair, right here in this office, and with an innocent enough touch, so he reached out and felt the sleeve of her cranberry red sweater. It was soft. Was the skin underneath it as soft? He made a sick, sort of groan, dropped his hand, turned back to his desk and repeated, "What a git!" This time he was speaking of himself.

He looked back over his shoulder at her, when she didn't respond right away. She smiled at him, her hand going back to his shoulder. "Draco, would you like me to fix you up with someone? Perhaps that will make you feel better. I know a few smart, pretty girls that would like to go out with you."

Great…that's all he needed…a pity date from her. He winced, closed his eyes again, put his head on his desk, and groaned louder. Heaven help him, he was in love with Hermione Granger and she wanted to fix him up with some loser. In addition, her sweater was soft.

He almost jumped out of his skin when her other hand joined the first hand on the opposite shoulder. She began massaging them, almost absentmindedly. He couldn't bring his head up off the desk if he tried. He made a small whimpering noise instead.

"Is something else wrong, Draco? Are you sick or in pain?" she asked softly, her face coming down near his. He could even feel her breath against his cheek, and somehow her breath was even soft. He _was_ in pain – pain of his own making. Pain brought from her nearness. Pain was a good word to describe his attraction to her, since she wasn't attracted to him.

"Pain," he managed to say. He must have moaned again, because the next thing he knew, one hand was in his hair. Gads…it felt wonderful. She stroked his short hair back and forth several times before she asked, "Is it something more than Pansy and Theo that's bothering you?"

"I think I'm coming down with that Hippogriff flu everyone's talking about," he lied. He kept his head down and his eyes closed.

"The Ministry would prefer us to call it that H2M2 flu, Draco, because they don't want to give Hippogriffs a bad rap," she reprimanded from her place behind his chair, one hand still rubbing his head.

"Oh yes, don't want to offend a bunch of ugly beasts, do we," he laboured. She felt his forehead as he rested it on his arms on his desk. He moaned louder.

"I think you might have a fever," she said.

His head popped right up from the desk. Did he?

He wasn't really sick, he was lying to her, but was he warm? Did he have a fever? He was highly susceptible to suggestions of illnesses. Whenever someone had an illness, Draco always thought he had it, too. If someone got ill eating something bad, Draco's stomach would hurt. If someone said he was coming down with a cold, he would feel one coming on, too. If they had a sore throat, his hurt. Once he even thought that he had endometriosis because of the symptoms he heard a woman in the office say that she had until Hermione informed him that only women had uteruses and ovaries.

So even though he had just made up the fact that he was coming down with the Hippogriff flu to cover for his pangs of pain coming from her touching him, if he had a fever, well, maybe he really was sick. He should go home. Perhaps she would take him home, because he was too sick to get there himself. Perhaps she would tuck him into bed, spoon-feed him some broth, and even give him a tepid bath to reduce his fever.

His errant thoughts were only making things worse.

"I really am ill," he said with a sigh as she continued to rub his hair, shoulders, and ahhh….she was touching his neck now. Who knew a neck was an erogenous zone? She stopped touching him, which he didn't like, so he popped his head back up and turned to look at her. She was frowning slightly.

"What?" he asked.

"I hate to think you'll be too sick to miss my Christmas party at the end of the month," she said. "I know it's still twelve days away, but listen, go home and rest, and perhaps you'll feel better by my party." She walked over and got his jacket, hat, and scarf. He remained sitting at his desk, but watched her when she came back to him, placed his scarf around his neck and his hat on his head.

She pulled on his hand to make him stand. He knew he was frowning, but only because he wasn't really sick and he didn't really want to leave her. They were the only two in the office today, and that might be nice. However, she began to help him in his jacket, one sleeve at a time. He didn't help at all.

She huffed and grunted, his arms not bending backwards the way she wanted them to, and said, "You're harder to dress than my dolls used to be. If I couldn't get their sleeves on, I would pop their arms off and they would go right in the sleeve. Then, I would pop them back into place later."

That wasn't a pleasant thought. He turned around, taking off his hat at the same time, and he hit her on the head with it. "Stop manhandling me, Granger. I'll put my coat on myself." He did just that, but then he walked over to the peg by the door, grabbed her coat, hat and scarf, threw them to her and said, "Come on. I know the cure to my ailment and it's not rest and relaxation. It's a day off from work. Come with me."

"Draco," she wailed, even when he placed her hat on her head and tugged it over her eyes, "I have so much work to do today, and by the way, I can't see."

He rolled the hat off her eyes; any excuse to touch her really. "Too bad. Your only assignment today is to take my mind off the upcoming marriage of Weasel….I mean Pansy and Nott." He had almost said, 'Weasel and you'! He helped her with her scarf and coat, (without removing any limbs) and then he retrieved her purse from her drawer and threw it at her.

She missed catching it by a kilometer!

"You aren't very coordinated, are you?" he laughed. She knelt down to pick up the purse and the contents and he did as well. Something rolled under his desk. They both reached blindly under the desk at the same time for the item. Her hand grasped the item first, so that when he reached for it, he grasped her hand AND the item.

Then they looked at each other at the same time and they both froze. He loved the way her hand felt under his. Her skin was so soft and warm. He loved the colour of her skin. Ivory. He even loved that word. Ivory. It flowed off his tongue, and swirled around his brain whenever he thought of her in nothing BUT her skin…ivory, ivory, ivory, ivory. His thumb rubbed back and forth across the top of her hand each time he thought of the word, 'ivory'.

He swallowed the lump that was in his throat. What to do, what to do? They were still basically on their knees, on the floor, holding hands. Yes, he should let go first, since his hand was trapping hers and the item, but he didn't want to let go.

She bit the corner of her lip. He knew that meant she was deep in silent contemplation. Did she feel the butterflies in her belly that he felt when they touched, or did she only feel the steady scratching of a hamster wheel with a vermin named Weasel was on it, (when Ron Weasley touched her)? He hated that git more than he hated Theo Nott!

"Draco?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"We can't both pick up the pear at the same time," she finally stated.

It was a pear? Oh, so she HAD gotten his present. Had she read the note, too? He let go of her hand and the pear, and plopped down on his bum. He removed his scarf almost at the same time. She sat cross-legged in front of him, placed the pear in her lap, and took off her hat and scarf. He took them from her hands and placed them on top of the empty chair at his desk, along with his.

So they sat on the floor, his legs out in front of him, his back against the drawers of his desk, and she sat right beside him, her legs crossed, (she was wearing a pretty skirt, but it covered everything when she sat, much to his dismay) and she had a pear in her lap.

"Why did you have a pear in your purse?" he asked.

"Oh, it was on my desk this morning. I assumed you might have placed it here, but I guess not. I was going to have it for lunch. I love pears, but I get them so rarely," she replied.

He asked, "Why did you think it was from me? Was there a note?" He knew there was. The note only said, **_"On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, a partridge in a pear tree."_** He couldn't find a partridge, he didn't even really know what one was, and a whole tree wouldn't fit on her desk, but a pear did. Since there were twelve days until her party, he was going to give her one thing from that Muggle song each day to show her how he felt, since she was his true love.

She didn't answer right away, but when she did, she didn't mention the note. Instead, she said, "Well, you're the only other person in the office with me this morning, so I deduced it was you. If it wasn't, oh well."

Then, she did perhaps the singularly most erotic thing a woman had ever done before, at least in front of Draco Malfoy. She raised the pear to her lips, opened her mouth, and took a bite. He was mesmerized. The way her teeth sunk into the tender flesh of the fruit, the way some of the juice squirted out, and dripped down her chin. He had never wished to be a fruit before, (no, he saved being a fruit for Harry Potter) but damn, to be that effing pear.

He struggled out of his jacket, if only to place it over his lap to hide his erection. He reached over to her face in time to catch a very small drop of pear juice that threatened to fall off her face. He wiped his hand on his trouser leg. She held out the pear and said, "Sorry about that. Would you like a bite? It's really quite good."

"What?" he said with surprise. "Really, Granger! Are you trying to kill me?" The words flew from his mouth before he could stop them.

The smile faded from her lips. She said, "You don't have to act so disgusted. I don't have Mudblood germs, although I suppose with this flu going around, we shouldn't eat after each other, either. I'm sorry I offended you." She reached up, placed the pear on the corner of the desk, got to her knees, took off her coat, placed it on his chair, and then using the corner of the desk for purchase, she stood.

He looked up at her, then back down at her lovely legs, (did he mention her skin was ivory?) and then back up to her face before he hopped up as quickly as he could. She was about to take the pear off his desk, when once again, they both grabbed for it at the same time.

Also once again, she was a bit quicker, but only because he was a bit off his game due to her nearness. This time, he grabbed her wrist instead of the pear. She glared at him, confused he was sure, but he brought both their hands toward his mouth and he took a large bite of pear.

The sweet, but tangy flesh touching his palate mingled with the scent of the woman before him and he reveled in the aftershock. She merely stared at him, her expression unreadable. He kept her wrist tightly in his grasp, and brought her hand to his mouth for a second bite. He turned his head slightly this time, to get a better angle, but he felt one tooth slip against her finger.

He let go quickly, because an electrical current jumped from his tooth to his groin in one second flat. He continued to chew, a bit embarrassed, whipping his mouth with the back of his hand.

She reached up to his chin, and with her thumb, she removed some juice as she said, "Forgot some." She took another bite herself, but then turned away from him so quickly that he cursed himself for his stupidity.

Then he praised himself when she shucked the core in the rubbish bin, bent to retrieve her things, took his hand and said, "Let's take a day off work, Malfoy. I think it would do wonders for both of us, don't you agree?"

"Yes, I feel better already," he said with a smile.

End of Part One

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_A/N: This was just a little something I wrote on my lunch break during Black Friday at work. Now I guess I'll have to write something for each day of the song, won't I?_


	2. Chapter 2 Two Turtledoves

_**Part 2: Two Turtle Doves:**_

"Are you whistling?" Terry Boot asked Draco Malfoy as he entered the office the next day at work.

Was he? He wasn't aware he was whistling, but perhaps he was. "Maybe? So what if I am. Is there a law against it?" he asked his coworker as he put his coat on the hook by the door.

Terry raised his brows in the air and said, "No, there's no law, per se, but I don't believe I've ever heard you whistle. Why are you whistling?"

"I'm happy," Draco said. Then he clamped his mouth shut tight. Why did he say that?

Terry looked as shocked as Draco did. "Why are you happy?" Terry asked. "I don't believe I've ever seen you happy before, either."

"Not that it's any of your business, you stupid twat, but I had a nice day yesterday." Draco sat at his desk, took out a report, and began to read.

"What did you do?" Terry asked, still very interested.

Draco didn't look up from the report. Instead he said, "Close your trap and get to work Boot."

"Granger just came in a moment ago and she said she had a nice day yesterday, too," Terry said. Draco slowly put the folder down. The other man was smiling.

Draco leaned forward. "What did she say?"

"Just that you two spent the day in the park…talking, of all things. Gee, you have it bad, don't you?" Terry got up from his desk, walked by Draco's desk and said, "A word of advice, Malfoy. We've all found ourselves a bit in love with her before, but no one acts on it, because she's been in love with that loser Ron Weasley since she was a little girl, and nothing is ever going to change that. Sorry old man, but that's the truth."

Draco watched as the former Ravenclaw left their office and he yelled after him, "Did I ask for your advice?"

Hermione walked in at that moment, and inquired, "Advice on what?"

Draco looked embarrassed. Hermione walked up to his desk and probed, "You can tell me. For what did you NOT ask his advice? Is it about that mole on your neck?"

Draco frowned again. His hand went to his neck. "What mole?"

"That one," Hermione said, pointing to the side of his neck. "Are you finally going to have a healer check it out? I think it's fine, but sometimes they are cancerous."

"Great!" Draco yelped. Now he would die of cancer before he proclaimed his love to Hermione! He went over to her desk, where he knew she kept a small compact mirror, opened the drawer, took out the mirror, and looked at his neck. "I don't see a mole," he said.

She laughed. "You are such a hypochondriac. You don't have a mole. Calm down. Seriously though, what were you and Boot discussing when I entered?"

"I respect your right to have secrets, so you should respect mine," he decided to say. She laughed. She was always laughing at him. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. She went to sit at her desk and he said, "So, Granger, did you have a nice day off work yesterday?"

"I did. Did you?" she asked back.

"It was adequate." He started to whistle again. He was whistling a Christmas song. He looked up from his desk to hers and said, "Hey, Granger, what have you there on your desk?"

"Hmm," she hummed. "This wasn't there when I arrived this morning, which by the way, was on time, meaning, you were late again."

He shrugged, "So?"

"I'm your supervisor, so to speak, Malfoy. I can't have you being late all the time," she said, bringing her wand up to the package to examine it closer.

"Fire me if it bothers you so much," he challenged.

"I might," she said flippantly. When she determined that the box was not dangerous she pulled on the green ribbon. A small piece of paper, held in place under the ribbon, fell to her desk. She picked it up and read it aloud. "On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me, two turtledoves. What in the blazes does that mean? First the pear yesterday and now this."

Draco stood up and walked up to her desk. "You would think someone would pick a better Christmas song than that old thing about Lords a leaping and Ladies dancing." He picked up the square box, and rattled it back and forth near his ear.

She took it from his grasp quickly and said, "Hey, stop that! If there are turtledoves in there, you might have just killed them."

He shrugged and said, "No great loss." He sat on her desk and said, "Well, open it."

"I don't like this," she said, sitting down. She knocked his hand away when he went to grab for the box. She sat it on her desk. She leaned her elbow on the desk, rested her chin on her hand, and studied the box. Draco was highly aware that her arm was touching his leg. Little things like that made him want to whistle again.

"What don't you like? You don't like presents?" He tried to reach across her for the box again.

She literally hit his hand hard with her hand, smacking it as if he was an errant child. "No, I don't like strange gifts, and not knowing who they're from. I thought the pear was from you yesterday, but this is different. I don't want to open it."

"Then don't open it. Put it in the water cooler and drown the little buggers, that is, if there are two turtledoves in there. Maybe whoever got it for you couldn't find turtledoves and they improvised and got a turtle and a dove."

She stared up at him and said, "Are you fever free today, because you're talking as if you're delirious. What nonsense."

This time he reached across her, without being hit, and grabbed the box. He held it high above her head and said, "Shall I destroy it for you, Granger?"

She stood up and held out her hand. "Give it here, Malfoy."

He stood up and held it higher. "Get it." He smiled at her, with a challenging look.

She actually stood on her chair, which had castors, so it could move easily, so she used his shoulder and then his head for support. He smiled as she tried to reach it now. He climbed up on her desk. He looked down at her and said, "Even if you climb up here, darling, I'm taller than you. How will you get it?"

She glared at him for a moment, and then she climbed on the desk, reared back her hand and punched him very hard in the stomach. He bent at the waist, clutched his gut with his good hand, and she grabbed the box out of his other one. She sat down on top of the desk and started to unwrap the present. He sat beside her, holding his stomach.

"You've maimed me forever, Granger," he moaned. "I think you hit me hard enough to do permanent damage. You might have punctured my pancreas. Does a person need their pancreas? Where is a person's pancreas?"

She lied and said, "In you head, now be quiet." She moved her finger under the flap of the box, where tape securely held the two flaps together. She cut her finger on the flap. "Ow." She brought her finger to her mouth.

He knocked his shoulder into hers and said, "That's what you deserve for damaging my liver."

With her fingertip still in her mouth she said, "I thought you said your pancreas." He smiled and removed her finger from her mouth, essentially holding her hand. "Anyway, you're liver's in your foot," she lied again.

"Now I know that ones a lie," he said. He took the small box from her one hand, and then he examined her finger from the other hand. There was a small, round, red drop of blood on the tip. "What to do, what to do?" he muttered, still holding her hand.

"Draco, you can let go of my finger. It's fine, really," she said.

"No, no, I'll see to it. It might get infected, and become gangrened, and fall off or something," he said, looking around the small office, her finger still in his hand.

He scooted off the desk, still holding her finger tight. He pulled his shirttail out of his trousers and then wrapped her bleeding finger in the end of his shirttail.

"Draco, you'll ruin your shirt!" she protested.

"Hush," he said.

"Are you certain your shirt is sanitary, you effing moron?" she said, and then she rolled her eyes.

"Apparently cleaner than your mouth, missy," he joked. "Does it hurt?"

"Not really. When I was little, I really was convinced that my mother's kisses could take away pain," she said with a smile.

He barely acknowledge her as he finished wiping all of the blood off the tip of her finger, then he brought it to his lips and in an act of pure lunacy, he kissed the tip. He looked at her for a long time… their gazed locked. Gads! What must she think! It was her idea! If she hadn't mentioned her mum and healing kisses, he would never have done that! He needed to act normal…act as if it never happened, even though her eyes were wide, her mouth open. To cover his blunder he merely said, "All better?"

She nodded first, said, "Yes, thank you," and then she turned quickly, her face red and flushed. She grabbed the little box and quickly pushed it into his hands. "Here, you better open it. I'm liable to cut my pancreas or something."

He took the box from her outstretched hand, said, "I think a person needs their pancreas, Granger, so you shouldn't make light." He opened the top of the box and then handed it back to her.

She pulled back a piece of green tissue paper, and inside the box were two porcelain turtledoves, their wings intertwined, hanging from a fine gold thread. "Oh, look, Malfoy, how beautiful. I'll have to hang it on my Christmas tree. It's so light and pretty." She held it up by the string, and watched as the wings of the birds moved, by magic.

"I didn't even know turtledoves were real birds," Draco said, looking at the ornament as she looked at it, too. Then he looked right at her, and he felt as mesmerized by her as she seemed to be by the ornament.

She continued to look at the ornament as she said, "Actually, Malfoy, turtledoves – also known as the European turtle dove, are members of the Columbidea family, which includes pigeons and doves. They're smaller than average doves, and browner in colour, but the tail is wedge shaped, with a dark center and a white border, which often catches people's eyes. The song of the turtledove, which sounds like a deep vibrating, turr, turr, sound, hence the name, often heralds the arrival of spring."

She smiled at him, looked him square in the eye, and continued, "Turtledoves have often been known as emblems of love as well, because of their biblical references to love. Shakespeare even wrote a sonnet called _'The Phoenix and the Turtle'_ and in this case, the turtle referred to a turtledove. Then of course, they're mentioned in several folk songs, the most famous being the one this present represents, the Christmas song, '_The Twelve Days of Christmas'_, which by the way, if the presents in that song were really given out in order, the receiver would end up with twenty-two turtledoves!"

"Now in scripture, the two turtledoves, often written as only one word, instead of two, present a picture of devotion and covenant and loving kindness. It's a sublime version of earthly love and friendship, with the number two representing the witness of one person standing on behalf of the other. It has to do with earthly sacrifice and…" she got no farther. His hand covered her mouth.

"You talk too much," he said. Her lips felt cool and moist under his hand. He didn't want to move it, but he could tell from her eyes that she was frowning. He had offended her by telling her that she talked too much. That wasn't his intention. The reason he wanted her to stop talking was because he wanted to kiss her, and he couldn't do that if she was talking, but the longer her held his hand over her mouth, and looked at her 'frowning' eyes, the more he knew that it was too soon for something like that. Kissing her finger when it was injured was one thing, but if he kissed her lips right now, she would either hit him or hex him.

It would turn her away from him, and he couldn't have that. He had to wait until her party. The night of her party, he was going to tell her how he felt about her.

He removed his hand slowly, but only to move it from her mouth, to her hand, where he took the ornament from her grasp to hold it up toward the light. He felt slightly embarrassed that he stopped her from talking, but seriously, it was either place his hand on her mouth or his MOUTH on her mouth. And it wasn't really that she was talking too much. Hell, he was used to her being a know-it-all. She had been like that all their lives.

He really did need her to stop talking or he truly might have kissed her, and that would have been disastrous, and too soon, but now she was hurt and angry. He placed the ornament on the top of her desk, looked at her sheepishly, and saw that she was still frowning.

"You were saying?" he asked.

She said, "Never mind."

"No, please, continue," he urged.

"I can't, I talk too much," she said sarcastically.

"Granger, when has my pointing out your faults ever stopped you from doing anything?" He picked the ornament back up and said, "I wonder who it's from?"

She looked him straight in the eye and said, "Whoever it's from, I hope he or she knows how much I love it. I really do. Thank you."

He felt slightly nervous. Did she already suspect him? He still had ten more days to go, and he couldn't have her suspect him yet, not until the last gift and the last big surprise. He said, "Why, why thank me?" His hand went to the back of his neck, in a nervous gesture.

"You helped me unwrap it, silly." She placed it gently back in the box.

"Oh yeah," he said. He started to his desk and then turned back. "Did you just call me 'silly'?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she sat at her desk, placed her present in the top drawer, and then she looked at her finger. It was no longer bleeding. Hermione glanced up at him quickly. He was still looking at her. "What did you ask?" she asked him.

"Nothing," he said with a smile, and then he began to whistle again.


	3. Chapter 3 Three French Hens

**Part 3 – Three French Hens**

"I think that side is lower now," Hermione said to Draco. She stood back from the ladder, where he stood, and peered up to the hanging garland. She bit her lip, closed one eye, cocked her head to the side, and said, "Yes, definitely, that side is lower."

Draco hissed an intake of breath. He climbed down the ladder, carried it to the other side of the windows, (even though the Ministry was underground twilight was in view) and he set the ladder on the other side of the long wall of windows, climbed back up, held that side of garland up about a centimeter, but no more, and said, "Well?"

"Perfect!" she exclaimed!

"First, Granger," he began, "I barely moved it. Second, tell me again why I can't use magic to put up these stinking decorations!"

"That wouldn't be any fun," she declared. He nailed the garland in the wall, actually letting it down a centimeter, just to prove a point, and he climbed down the ladder.

"Newsflash," he started, "I'm not having fun doing it this way."

"You aren't?" she asked, looking genuinely surprised.

"No!" He held up the strand of lights that was in his hand and said, "Where does this bloody strand go? This place already looks like a bordello; it's so gauche and gaudy. I hardly think we need more lights."

She gave him a hurt look and said, "Fine, just put them on my desk, and I'll put them up. There are only two more strands, anyway. After that, I only have the wreath to hang on the door and the star to put on the tree, and I can do that by myself. You can go on home." She took the red strand of lights from his hand and walked over to the door to their office, and held it open for him.

Most of the staff had already left for the evening. Hermione had tried earlier to recruit everyone to help decorate tonight, but no one would volunteer. She even offered to have food carried-in and everything, but each member of her staff had an excuse, including Draco.

Except, he came back. She actually jumped for joy when he walked back into the room. He would have preferred if she had jumped into his arms, but oh well. He thought they would swish their wands around, put up a few tasteful wreaths and a couple of swags of garland and holly, and then they might have a quiet dinner together under the mistletoe, which he would hang last but not least.

Little did he know that she expected manual labor from him, as if he was a lowly Muggle, or that their office would end up looking like Las Vegas had vomited all over it.

He sauntered slowly toward the door, took her hand from the knob, continued to hold it in one hand, as he slammed the door shut with the other. Her hand was so small and delicate. It felt right in his hand. Without outward emotion he said, "I'll stay and finish."

She smiled at him, a perfect smile, which reached all the way to her eyes. "Just for that, I'll do something special just for you," she claimed, giving his hand a squeeze.

He hoped it would be a kiss.

It wasn't. She removed her hand from his and began to wrap the red strand of lights around Draco's chair. Was this his reward, or punishment, because surely she was only doing this to irritate him? He folded his arms in front of him, stood at the end of his desk and said, "There are five other desks in this office, with five other chairs, yet you pick my chair to put that red strand of lights? I don't think so. It's bad enough that the room looks like the decorations exploded all around it. Don't decimate my chair!"

"It was either put them on your chair, or stick them up your arse…oh that's right, you already appear to have a broomstick stuck up your arse," she said sweetly. With a swish of her wand, the red lights on his chair illuminated. She stood back, smiled to herself, and said, "Lovely, aren't they? They're even Gryffindor colour, did you notice?"

He was suddenly right behind her. "Yes, I noticed," he said in a low voice. She jumped, not aware he was so close. She also hadn't noticed that he suddenly had the other strand of lights in his hands, a green strand.

She began to back away from him, her hand out in front of her. "What are you planning to do with those lights, Malfoy?"

"Turn about is fair play. I notice that you put up the blue lights, the white lights, even the gold lights, and of course, the red, which now are around my chair. What about these, Granger? Green is the Slytherin colour, you know." He swung them from his hand.

"Green is ugly, and has no business being a Christmas colour," she joked.

He gave a feigned look of shock, and said, "Silly witch. Red and green are the two main Christmas colours! You personally took it upon yourself to find a home for the red strand, so may I be so bold to find a home for the green?" He was still approaching her, she was still backing toward the wall, and he was still swinging the lights from his hand.

She gave him an impish grin and said, "What are your intentions, Malfoy? My chair's over there."

He could hardly tell her his TRUE intentions, because truthfully, he wanted to tie her up with the lights and when she was at his mercy, have his wicked, wicked way with her, but since it was Christmas, and he wanted to seem nice, (even if he longed to be naughty) he merely said, "I think I'll decorate you." He took her left hand in his right, and he began to wrap the string of lights around her arm. She looked bemused, but also curious as to what he was going to do next, so she was letting him at it, to his amazement.

After her arm was wrapped from wrist to shoulder, he reached around her and placed the string of green lights lightly around her neck loosely, once, and then twice. Ah, he was so close to her. He could count her freckles from here. He looked down at her, she craned her neck to look up at him.

"You have four freckles on your nose, and two on your chin," he said.

"And you're telling me that, why?" she said softly.

"No reason," he muttered. Her smiled began to vanish. Was she feeling the sudden charge of electricity between them that he was feeling, and which had nothing to do with the lights around her body and in his hand? She slowly licked her lips, and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, so he could continue. Otherwise, he would stand in front of her and do more than count her freckles.

He took a step away from her, and after wrapping the string around her neck like a necklace, he started twirling the lights around her other arm. When the strand ended at her wrist, he said, "Hold this end for me, won't you?" She did, though she laughed.

Then he looked all around and said, "Now, where's the outlet? I must plug you in."

"You could use magic to light me up, the way I lit up your desk," she suggested.

He looked down at her face, smirked, and snarled, "That would be cheating. No magic allowed. We must uphold Muggle traditions here, Granger. I think I need an extension cord."

There was a knock on the door to their office and she said, "Who could that be?"

"Go see," he urged.

"I can't even bend my arms!"

"Well, weren't you stupid to let someone wrap you up with green lights, Granger," he said sarcastically. "I'll get the door. It's probably our food. You promised to order food for us, didn't you?"

He opened the door, took a bag from a young man, and tipped him a galleon. Hermione walked over, while unraveling the lights from her arms the best she could and she said, "Draco, that's not ours, it must belong to someone else. I forgot to get us food. I promised everyone that I would order food if they stayed to help, but when no one stayed, I didn't, and when you came back, I still forgot. It was delivered here by mistake."

He shrugged and said, "It's ours now." She was shaking her arm, trying to remove the lights, and he glared at her, and laughed. He placed the bag of food on his desk, and began to unwrap her. He longingly said, "Too bad I can't completely unwrap you, like a present."

He was just removing the string of lights from her neck when he said it. She looked up in his eyes and said, "Pardon? What did you say?"

"Nothing," he pouted. He pulled the lights from the last arm, and balled them in his hand. She held out her hand, but he threw them on the desk. Her hand was still open and outstretched, so he placed his hand in hers, reached over for the bag of food and said, "Shall we?"

"Where are we eating?" she quizzed.

He moved her to the corner of their office, where their pitiful tree sat. He turned out all the lights in the office, save for the Christmas lights, which he had earlier said was gauche, but which he now thought was romantic. He summoned his coat from the hook on the door, placed it on the floor by the tree, and said, "After you."

She raised her brows a moment, but sat down on his opened coat nonetheless. He sat on the floor, beside her, not bothering with sitting on the coat. He opened the bag and said, "Let's see what we have to eat."

He took out a bottle of wine and said, "Ah, someone has good taste."

She took the wine from him and looked at it closely. "This is good wine. It's French. It's also probably very expensive. Are there glasses in there?"

"Doesn't appear to be any," he said. "The person who ordered this food must have their own glasses."

"Draco, we should find out who this food belongs to, because they're probably expecting it," she harped, as he continued to lay out their feast.

"Ah, pshaw," he snapped. "They can expect to be disappointed then, if they're expecting anything at all." He emptied the rest of the food, and at the bottom of the bag was a note. He threw it at her and said, "I suppose this might be the bill. You should pay, since you made me do all the work."

"In the eloquent words of Draco Malfoy, ah, pshaw," she heralded. She took the small, piece of paper and unfolded it slowly. "Draco…it's another note, to me."

"Let me guess, something about 'three French hens,' true love, and Christmas?" he asked, removing the cork from the wine with his wand and then taking a drink from the bottle.

She nodded, placed the note under his nose, and said, "Exactly. It says, and I quote, 'On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me, three French hens.' What does wine and bread and cheese have to do with French hens?" She looked at the food Draco had just placed around them.

"It is French bread, and French wine, and French Cheese," he pointed out. "If the person was smart, they could have given you three game hens to eat, but maybe they thought you were a vegetarian, or they thought you would take so long to decorate, that the meat would turn rancid, so this was the alternative. Don't complain, just enjoy. Wine?" He took another large swig right from the bottle and offered her some next.

She took the bottle and placed her mouth hesitantly on the mouth of the bottle, where only moments ago his mouth had been. He was highly aware of that fact. After a small drink, she decided, "This bothers me a bit." She sat back against the wall, and she read the note again. "You don't suppose it's some lunatic stalker, do you?"

"If it is, he has good taste in wine, and if it's poisonous or something, I'll die too, because I've already tasted it," he reasoned. He kept his head down, pulling some of the bread off the long loaf, but he looked at her from behind his lowered lashes. She truly looked concerned. This was supposed to be romantic, yet she was getting all "Hermione" on his arse and instead of enjoying everything, she was over analyzing everything. "Can't you just enjoy the fact that someone wants to give you presents and make you happy at Christmas time?"

She was quiet for a very long time before she answered, "I really don't think so."

He continued to watch her stew, and when he couldn't take it any longer he finally beckoned, "Hermione?" She looked over at him. He threw a small piece of cheese at her, and it hit her on the nose before landing on her lap. That shocked her apparently, because she stopped looking pensive, (and in his opinion, when she looked pensive she looked a bit like Professor McGonagall) and a mask of emotions went across her face. Pensive turned to shock, shock turned to confusion, confusion turned to amusement, and finally, amusement turned to happiness. She laughed.

She popped the cheese in her mouth and concluded, "You're right, Malfoy. I'll enjoy the attention, and it is probably from someone I know, someone who likes me, and only wants to get my attention. Perhaps it's all from Ron?"

A grape that Draco had just popped in his mouth wedge in his windpipe at her misconstrued theory. He began to choke and cough. She patted his back and said, "Alright there, Malfoy?"

He coughed and sputtered some more, turned to face her and said, "Sure, I'm alright, Granger." However, he wasn't alright, not at all. He frowned and suddenly, he was no longer hungry. He decided to call it a night, so he could go home and decide something better for "four calling birds." He wiped his hands on his trousers, made to stand, and then watched her as she did the same.

He vanquished the trash from their 'picnic', his mood less than happy. She looked at him worried, and he hated that he was now causing her more distress. She said, "You did such a great job helping me with the decorations here, Malfoy, I don't suppose you'd like to help me with my decorations at home, tomorrow night, would you?"

He reached down for his jacket, to hide his smile. Everything was working out after all. When he looked back at her, he shrugged his shoulders, tried to look nonchalant, and said, "Yeah, sure whatever, as along as I get to use magic, and we keep the wattage of the lights to a minimum."

"Sure, whatever, Malfoy," she agreed, picking up the strand of green lights from the top of his desk. He pointed at the strand and gave his head a slight nod, as if to ask her what she was doing. She explained, "We didn't end up using these, so we might use them at my house tomorrow."

He nodded back. She took her coat and purse, and he opened the door for her, with a smile still plastered on his face. He would like a chance to use the green lights once more. He might even accidentally wrap her up in them again, and then have some fun watching her light up, when he plugged her in. Just the thought of that made him smile.


	4. Chapter 4 Four Calling Birds

**Part four – Four calling birds**

Draco walked into the office, an unusual smile on his face replacing his regular smirk, his version of 'four calling birds' wrapped in a package in his hand, and he was even whistling again. He removed his coat, hat, scarf and gloves, sat at his desk, and then looked over at her desk.

He looked at his watch. He was on time for a change, yet she wasn't there. She was ALWAYS there. He looked over at Boot, who was busy working. He looked at their other two coworkers, Hannah Abbott and Dennis 'something or other' (Draco could never remember the man's last name, though he was certain it started with a 'C') and he said aloud, "Where's Granger?"

Hannah looked up at him and said, "She's not coming in today."

No bloody way! They had a date tonight! Okay, maybe it was only a date in Draco's mind, but still, how dare she have the unmitigated gall to call in sick on the fourth day of his twelve-day plan to win her over to the dark side.

He stuffed his package containing the 'four calling birds' into his desk and grimaced. He pulled out a report he had been working on, picked up a Muggle pen, and set to work. Then he stopped working completely when that Dennis chap came to his desk and said, "She did have this note delivered for you, Mr. Malfoy." Yes, Draco always demanded that the chap call him Mr. Malfoy, so what? It was his name, after all.

Draco took the note from the fellow, grumbled, "Thanks, Crumbly," (That wasn't his last name, was it?) and began to read. Then he smiled. HA! She was apparently fine! She wasn't sick or _contagious_ in the least! Apparently she had an appointment today, but the note said that she could still use his assistance decorating tonight, if he so wished, and to arrive at her house after five.

His assistance. She needed his assistance. Take that Weasel! He wondered where Weaselbee had been the last few days. Usually, he made an appearance in their office one or two times a week…taking her to lunch, picking her up after work, borrowing money from her. What a stupid, worthless, piece of rubbish that man was. She had been engaged to him for four years and not married yet! Well, if Draco had his way, at the end of the twelve days, she would see that no one in his or her right mind would ever picture her with the ginger haired git! No. If Hermione Granger married anyone, it would be Draco Malfoy.

Or his name wasn't, well, Draco Malfoy.

Draco worked throughout the day, looking at his watch continually. Finally, around fifteen until five, he looked up to find he was alone in the office with only Dennis 'What's his Name'. "Where'd Boot and Abbott go?" Draco asked.

"I imagine they had left early, since the boss isn't here, Mr. Malfoy," Dennis replied.

"Huh, well, I have something important to do, so I'll just be leaving early, too," Draco said, standing up to leave.

"But everyone can't leave early. Hermione wouldn't like that," Dennis pointed out.

"And your point being what, Crewly?" Draco spat as he donned his coat.

"Actually, my name is Creevey," Dennis said.

Draco frowned and said, "Are you sure?"

"Well, it is my name," he said back.

"Really? It's Creevey? That doesn't sound like a real name," Draco said. "That doesn't matter. I think I know what Hermione would like better than you, Crosby, so you just mind your own business, okay?" Draco nodded once, and left the office.

A quarter of an hour later he stood outside Hermione's front door, lifted his hand, and knocked.

There was no answer.

He knocked again.

Hermione walked around the side of her old Victorian house and said, "Hello, Malfoy." Draco turned on the front porch and stared at her.

"Hey, Granger."

"I've got the ladder around back, and the lights are all ready," she said.

Draco looked confused for a millisecond and then said, "You're funny, Granger. We can use magic to decorate your house. We won't need a ladder."

"No we can't," she said, walking up on the porch. "I live in a Muggle neighbourhood, and someone might see."

"Only if they look inside your windows," Draco spouted.

Now Hermione looked confused. She shook her head and said, "Oh, no, Draco…we're going to decorate the outside. I want to hang lights, and I have a big wreath I want to hang on the pitch of the roof, near the gable around the front, and I have garland swags to hang on each window, and of course, there are all the lights."

"Next you'll tell me you want to put a bloody Father Christmas with eight tiny reindeer on your bloody roof!" he shouted.

She looked crestfallen. "Look, you didn't have to come. I'm sorry I didn't make myself clear about what I wanted. I usually have Ron help me, but I couldn't, I mean, he couldn't, well, it doesn't matter. Goodbye, Draco." She walked back around the corner of her house, and out of his sight.

He felt like a fool. He also wondered why she couldn't ask Ron to help her this year. Then he had another thought…she asked HIM instead of Ron. Curious. He placed his package (four calling birds) on the porch by the door and slipped off the porch, walked around the side of the house, and opened a wooden gate that he assumed led to her back garden.

He found her climbing a ladder. "Hey, get down from there before you fall!" he shouted. He ran to the bottom of the ladder, placed his hands on each side and looked up at her. She stared down, smile and started to climb down the ladder. When she was on the second from the last rung, she stopped. She had to. Draco hadn't yet moved. His front was pressed against her back. His hands were merely centimeters under hers. Neither could move.

She didn't tell him to get out of her way, and he didn't intend to get out of her way, even if she _had_ said it. She had on a cranberry colour coat, which covered her from shoulder to knee, but still, he could feel 'her'. He could tell that her breathing was shallower and her pulse quicker. She was as overwhelmed by his nearness as he was by hers. He could smell her sweet scent. Her hair tickled his nose. Normally, this would have been an embarrassing situation, and perhaps he should be embarrassed that he had yet to move out of her way, but he was enjoying it too much.

He leaned forward a bit more, and placed his chin on her shoulder. He looked at her face. Her eyes were closed. He whispered in her ear, "Shall I move?"

She shook her head slowly. That was an interesting response. She turned her head a fraction. Their cheeks were touching. Oh…my…stars…he was enthralled with her.

"Draco?"

"Yes?" His breath fanned across her cheek.

"Perhaps you should move so I can climb down."

"Oh?" He wanted to kiss her so badly. That would now be his goal for the evening. He wanted a kiss. He moved his hands from below hers to place them directly on hers. They both wore gloves, but he felt the heat of her skin. He did. His hand went slowly from the tops of her hands, across the sleeves of her jacket, to her back. He said, "Okay, I have you now. You're safe. Come on down." Except, she wasn't safe, because he really, really, really wanted to kiss her.

He backed away from the ladder just a fraction and she stepped the rest of the way down. His hands went from her back to her shoulders and he turned her around. He stared into her confused face and asked, "Where's Weasel? You said he usually helps you. I haven't seen him at the office lately, either. Aren't you two still together? I thought you were engaged." Draco placed his hands back on the ladder, so that she was blocked within the confines of his arms.

"So many questions," she said in a quiet tone. She ducked under one of his arms and changed the subject by pointing at a large box and saying, "Well, there's the lights. Shall we get started?"

It took two hours to decorate her house. Draco still used magic, because once it was dark, he figured no one would see. She chastised him, saying that they work for the Muggle Liaison office, and that it would look bad if they were fined for doing magic in front of Muggles. He told her to live dangerously for once.

When they finally went inside her house, he was cold, his knees hurt from all the climbing up and down the ladder, and he was in an irritable mood, because he still wanted to kiss her. She made them some hot chocolate and when she walked back into her living room with two steaming cups, he was sitting on her couch, still in his coat, hat and gloves, his hands folded in front of him, deep in thought.

"What's wrong, Draco?" she asked.

He stood. When she tried to offer him a cup of chocolate, he refused. She set them both on the mantle and turned back to face him. He said, "Why didn't you answer any of my questions earlier? Where's Weasley?"

She looked down. Then she walked right up to him, and lifted one of his hands. He was shocked, confused, and sexually frustrated. She removed one of his gloves, then did the same with the other hand. She reached up and removed his hat. Her hand went to the top button of his jacket and she unbuttoned it. His hands went to hers, bare skin on bare skin, and he stopped her.

"Answer me, Granger!"

She looked upset. "Are you going to take off your coat and have your chocolate?"

He wasn't sure why she was suddenly upset, or why he felt in such a surly mood, but the very fact that he wanted to kiss her today more than ever, and that she wouldn't answer his question made him angrier than he had been in a long time. He said, "No, I'm not having any effing chocolate. I helped with your decorations, now I'll be going." He picked up his hat and gloves and went to her door. She followed.

He opened the door and stepped over the threshold. He stepped on the package he had placed their earlier. He gasped.

"What happened?" she asked.

He growled, bent down, and picked up the package. He turned and handed it to her. "Here, I guess this is for you. I stepped on it. I think I might have broken whatever was inside." He knew he broke what was inside, and now he was angrier still.

She opened the brown paper package and saw that it covered a compact disc. She made a sort of 'cooing' sound, an intake of breath, and she said, "It's a CD. When I was really young, my grandmother had a Christmas record by a group of singers, four sisters, and I loved that record, and I've been searching for a copy of it for years and years, and here it is."

"Right, broken beyond repair," Draco said, taking the broken CD and case from her hand.

She picked up the paper that wrapped the present, and on the inside of the paper was written: "_On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, four calling birds_." She read it aloud, and then laughed. "Oh my, that's a clever one for four calling birds. However did anyone know about this, though?"

Draco knew about it because she mentioned it once. He knew almost everything about her. He listened to everything that she said. He never forgot a thing. He handed the broken CD back to her and said, "And I ruined it for you. I'm so very sorry, Granger. I'll try to find another one for you."

She placed the broken CD on a table by the front door along with the packaging. She placed a hand on his shoulder, leaned forward, and kissed his cheek. Her lips were so soft and sweet. He longed to wrap his arms about her. When she leaned away, she said, "Thanks for helping me with my decorations. I still need to decorate the inside of my house, too, before my party. Don't think I won't recruit you for that now that I know what a great decorator you are, Malfoy."

"I'd love to help you," he said dreamily, but then with conviction he added, "Only if we can use magic this time."

"Of course," she answered. She still had one hand on his chest. He just noticed. How could he just notice that?

He placed a hand over her hand and with his other hand he brought his fingertips lightly down her cheek. He smiled at her and said, "I'll see you tomorrow at work." He turned and walked away. He was no longer angry...because he got his kiss.

* * *

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	5. Chapter 5 Five Golden Rings!

**Part 5: Five Golden Rings!**

"_Five golden rings! Four calling birds, three French hens, two turtledoves and a partridge in a pear tree."_

"What are you singing over there to yourself, Hermione?" Hannah asked Hermione when they walked down a long corridor of the Ministry of Magic as they left a conference room after an interdepartmental meeting.

"A Muggle Christmas carol," Hermione said. "It's been on my mind for days."

The two women continued walking down the hallway with Draco right in front of them, and he had a large smile on his face. He knew why she was singing that particular song, and it pleased him immensely that it was on her mind. He turned around and said, "What song would that be again, Granger?"

She gave him a small grin and said, "You know what song, Malfoy."

"Oh, do Draco and Hermione have secrets between them?" Terry asked, bounding toward the women. He threw one arm around Hermione's neck, one around Hannah's, and walked between them. "What song are we talking about, kiddies?"

"Oh, it's nothing, it's just that I've been getting packages from a secret admirer, and each package has reference to the Muggle song, 'The Twelve Days of Christmas' and now I can't get the song out of my head," Hermione explained. She reached their office first and opened the door.

The two men walked into the office and Terry stared pointedly at Draco. Draco didn't like the way the former Ravenclaw looked at him. He looked as if 'he knew'. Draco glared back and then held up two fingers in a rude gesture. Terry laughed and asked, "You have a secret admirer?"

"I guess," she said softly.

"It might be someone deranged," Dennis said coming into the office last.

"Let's not make a big deal out of this," Hermione said with a frown. She sat down at her desk.

"It is a big deal," Hannah said. "It's sort of romantic."

Dennis had a funny look on his face and interjected, "I think it's disturbing."

Hermione looked up from her desk. "Disturbing? You think it's disturbing? How so?"

"The person could be a stalker. Deranged and all that," Dennis concluded.

Hermione continued to frown and asked, "Do you really think so? I don't think so. Do you think so?" She placed her chin in her hand and began to get that intense look she got when she was upset, or thinking. Either way, Draco didn't like that look, because he didn't like her being upset and unhappy, especially regarding 'his gifts'.

"Yes, let's not make a big deal out of this," he repeated.

"But seriously, sometimes stalkers start out with benign things like presents," Dennis pointed out. He sat on the corner of Hermione's desk and said, "Have there been other things besides the presents, like notes and letters, too? Maybe you should have your boyfriend look at them. He's an Auror, isn't he?"

"It's nothing, really, it's no big deal, I'm sorry I mentioned it," she said.

"Yes, she's sorry she mentioned it," Draco reiterated.

Dennis stood up and threw up his hands. "Hermione! This could be serious! Let me see what he's been giving you."

"No," she and Draco said at the same time. Terry snorted. Draco gave him another dirty look.

Hannah sat at her desk and said, "Dennis has a point. Maybe you should at least tell Ron."

Hermione lowered her head and mumbled something. No one could tell what she said. "What?" Hannah asked.

She mumbled something again.

"We still didn't hear you, Granger," Terry said.

She stood up and said, "RON AND I ARE NO LONGER TOGETHER, OKAY? SO I CAN'T TELL HIM ANYTHING!" Looking dejected, she sat down and sighed.

"Then maybe the presents and notes are from him, as his way to get back together, or to say that he's sorry," Dennis offered.

"You're a moron, Crumbly," Draco barked.

"That's not his name," Terry laughed, "and you know it. Hannah, would you and Crumbly like to go to lunch with me, my treat?" He stood up, but did not wait for an answer…he merely walked out the door. Hannah and Dennis followed.

Draco thought Hermione looked distressed, but he was elated. She and the ugly red troll were no longer together. Part of his Christmas wish was coming true! He walked over to her desk and said, "Don't be upset about the gifts, Granger. I'm sure they're not from a nutter."

"You don't know who the gifts are from, do you, Draco?" she asked slowly. He felt a suddenly rush of nerves. He couldn't reveal anything yet, even if it meant allievating her fears.

He made a funny face, but answered, "Crowley is a fool. I thought you thought the gifts were sweet and romantic, anyway."

"Yes, well I thought they were when I thought they were from, well, never mind," she said in a rush.

To take her mind off the presents, he said, "Let's go to lunch, Granger. Boot is treating the others, so your lunch will be my treat."

"I think I'm coming down with a cold or something, because my head feels like mush. Never mind me." She placed her head on her arms, on her desk. "Go on to lunch, Malfoy. Like I said, never mind me."

He wondered if she was truly coming down with something, or if she was upset about the suggestion that the gifts were from a stalker, or perhaps she was merely feeling dejected about her and Ron. How could she go from happy and singing moments ago to being sad (or possibly ill) only ten minutes later. This was seriously going to put a damper on his 'five golden rings'.

He grabbed his jacket and left for lunch without another word to her. When he returned twenty minutes later, she was the only one in the office. Her head was still on the desk, and her eyes were closed. He seriously thought she might be sleeping. He hoped so. If she was ill, he would be forced to leave her be today. He didn't deal well with sick people.

He walked up to her desk and looked down at her. She even looked pretty with her eyes closed. He sighed. In an act of pure lunacy, he reached out and touched her hair. She didn't appear to notice. He stroked her hair from the crown of her head to her shoulders. She opened her eyes. He was caught! There they were…her head on her arms, on her desk, but her eyes were now open, and his hand was clearly on her head. GADS! He was such a tosser! Worse, perhaps Crosby was right and he was a stalker or a pervert.

He was about to make up some lie about a spider or something being in her hair when she said, "I have a headache, Malfoy, so that feels nice."

Ah…she thought it felt nice. He stroked her hair again. It felt nice to him as well. He situated himself a bit better behind her and began to stroke her hair with both hands, and then he moved his hands slightly from her mass of brown hair to her neck. He moved her hair to the side, and rubbed her neck with his thumbs, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders.

"What happened between you and Weasel?"

"I got a pear the other day," she answered.

That answer confused Draco. "I know, I was there," he told her. He wanted to say, '_I know, I gave it to you,'_ but no need to reveal his feelings yet, after all, it was only day five, and things were going good. Did she mean that she broke up with him _because _she received the pear? He wondered.

"What do you mean? Does Weasley have something against fruit? He is one, so I would think he wouldn't mind you receiving one," he joked. His hands went from her neck to her shoulders. He rubbed them gently. The material of her green blouse was so soft. He wondered if her skin was as soft, or was it softer?

Hermione looked over her shoulder at him slightly, and then turned her head back toward the front. "I mean that I received a simple little present from someone unknown, and it made me happier than I had been in a long time, and I thought it was time to end things with Ron. Case closed. I don't want to talk about it anymore." She winced and closed her eyes again. Draco was beginning to think that perhaps she did have a headache, or perhaps she was merely upset with the end of a long-standing relationship.

Draco kept his hands on her shoulders, but leaned closer. His hands traveled lightly down her shoulders to her upper arms, his chest leaning closer to her back. He was glad that her eyes were still shut. It gave him courage. If she was looking at him right now, he wouldn't have the courage to say what he was about to say. He whispered in her ear, "This is the last I will say on the subject, but Merlin, Granger, you deserve better, and you know it, and I know it, and probably even Weaslebee knows it. I wouldn't doubt it if Crumbly didn't know it."

She expelled a small laugh, though she kept her eyes closed. He leaned away, his left hand going back to her hair for one last stroke; his right hand remained on her shoulder.

She sat up, turned in her chair, so that his hands had to drop from her person. She asked, "Would you like to go Christmas shopping with me tomorrow? It's the last Saturday before Christmas, and I have some last minute presents to buy."

"Is your headache gone?" he inquired.

"Is that your answer?" she asked back, smiling. She stood up from her desk and said, "Blimey, I only have five minutes left for lunch. What can I get to eat in five minutes?"

Draco shrugged, walked over to their office door, and opened it while he said, "I haven't a clue, but perhaps your stalker gave you another pear. You could eat if for lunch." He leaned down, picked up a package and when he stood, he threw it at her. She missed catching it, and it landed on the floor by her feet.

"Terrible, terrible reflexes, Granger," he laughed. He leaned down by her leg to pick it back up. He looked up at her and slowly stood. He handed her the package and said, "This was outside the door. It must be your five golden rings. Open it if you dare. If you agree with Creevey and you think it's creepy, don't open it."

"Hey, you got his name right finally," she said with a smile. She sat on the edge of her desk and began to open the package.

Draco smirked, sat beside her, folded his arms in front of him, and said, "Are you sure? I thought I made that one up."

"Yes, I'm sure, it's his name." She handed him the brown paper that covered the round, red tin with a golden reindeer on the lid. She almost squealed in delight. She opened the lid, and on the inside of the lid was the phrase, _**"Five Golden Rings".**_ She lifted a round piece of tissue paper, and inside the tin were five perfectly round sugar biscuits, with sugar glitter and white icing on top.

Draco reached inside to grab one and she swatted his hand. "These are mine, thank you very much! It's perfect, too, since I haven't had lunch."

"You mean to say that number one, you are so selfish that wouldn't share with me, and that number two, you would seriously eat biscuits for lunch? Scandalous, Granger, simply scandalous."

She took one of the round biscuits in her hand, placed the red tin on her desk and she took a big bite. She closed her eyes once more, but this time, she smiled when she closed her eyes, she hummed, and then said, "Oh my goodness, these are scandalous, Malfoy, not me. I don't care if the bloke who is giving me the presents is a stalker or not. He can be a deranged git for all I care, as long as he gives me things like this, I'll be content." She took another bite and smiled.

"Can't I have a small taste?" he asked. He pushed away from her desk and stood in front of her.

She shook her head no. She took another bite, even as she stood from the corner of her desk, to stand directly in front of him. A small dab of icing was on the corner of her mouth. He reached over, with his thumb, and rubbed the icing away. He showed it to her. "You're a messy eater, Granger." He put his thumb in his mouth and added, "And I'm glad you are, because that's bloody wonderful, and since your table scraps are the only way I'll get to taste these, I better be thankful."

She laughed and held up the last bite from the first biscuit. She offered, "Here, you can have this last bite."

"Really? Just for me?"

"Why not?"

"Why not in deed," he said, his eyes not leaving hers. He stepped closer, reached for her hand, and with his hand around her wrist, he took the last bite right from her fingers. He noticed there was a bit of icing on her index finger. Dare he? Yes, he dare. He licked her finger.

Her eyes opened wide.

He smiled, dropped her hand, wiped his bottom lip with his finger, and said, "My, that was delicious, Granger. The icing taste even better off you. Well, to answer your question, I'd love to go shopping tomorrow, however, I think I'll go home early today. I'll see you tomorrow, for shopping and all." He decided to leave now, before he gave away too much. After all, this was Granger. She was smart. He didn't want to be too obvious, and the whole 'licking her finger thing' was very, very blatant. He wanted this to last the whole twelve days. He wanted to take things slow, so to savor every single, solitary moment of his conquest of Hermione Granger.

He picked up his things and walked out of the room. He began to sing, "The Twelve Days of Christmas", even before he walked out of their office. He caught himself though, and stopped singing at 'five golden rings'…yes, he didn't want to give away too much too soon.

He couldn't wait for day six.


	6. Chapter 6 Six Geese a Laying

**Part 6- Six Geese a Laying**

Draco didn't like holiday shopping at Muggle stores. There were too many Muggles walking around, pushing, shouting, and being all 'Mugglelish'. He really didn't like Muggles on the whole. He found them somewhat beneath him. Of course, he would never tell Granger that he felt that way. She would accuse him of being prejudiced and blame it on his pureblood heritage, when in reality the fault was with the dirty, rotten Muggles.

Fine, so he worked in the Department of Muggle Relations, but he only started working there a few months back to be closer to HER. Before then, he worked as an undersecretary in the Minister's office. He didn't really need to work and it was a boring job, as all jobs tend to be, and at least now, he saw her pretty face every day, even though he had to deal with Muggle things once in a while.

She would probably call him a bigot, and maybe he was. He stood by a fountain, in the large shopping mall, waiting for his date (yes, he considered this another date, no matter what she thought) and he watched all the little Muggles doing Muggle things and he saw where some people might find them endearing and cute, but to him, they were close to being disgusting. They needed their own land. They could call it 'Muggleland'. That thought even made him laugh. Damn, he **was** a pureblood bigot. He had to make certain she didn't discover his secret. He would have to hide it well. He sat on the side of the fountain to wait.

He saw her shoes first. She had on sexy black boots. They had very high heels. He looked up slowly. She had on blue jeans, a white sweater, a black and white short-checkered jacket thrown over one arm, a beautiful burgundy silk scarf around her neck, and overall she looked wonderful, beautiful, everything he ever imagined. He smiled when he reached her face. Ah…she was just so, so, well…right. At least two Muggles, her parents, did something worthwhile. They had her.

"Have you waited long?" she asked.

"Yes, you're late," he accused, standing. He looked at his watch. She wasn't late. He had been early.

Still, she offered, "I'm sorry. I had to check my list a few times, to make sure I didn't forget anyone. I have a lot of people left to buy for after all."

"And are all these people on your list nice?" he asked, one eyebrow in the air. She smiled.

"You're on the list," she answered coyly, "so I guess that's a no."

"Ah, I'm on the naughty side of the list, aye?" he asked. He held out his arm for her, and she slipped her hand threw it easily, naturally. He felt elated. He didn't even mind being around the Muggles when she was near. "Seriously, you're buying me a present? I'm flattered."

She explained, "Well, I always buy presents for everyone in the office."

Maybe he wasn't flattered. If she did it for everyone, it wasn't that special. "Do all of these people on your list buy you presents in return?" he asked, weaving her through the throng of people. He bought her presents in return, but she didn't know that yet.

"That hardly matters, does it?" she asked. She stopped, forcing him to stop. She looked inside a window of a store. "My father would like that," she said, pointing to a black briefcase.

"Back to our subject," Draco interjected. She faced him, leaning against the window. "Why buy for people who don't buy for you?"

"Are you serious? I know you've heard the old adage that it's better to give than to receive," she said, sternly.

Draco said, "Yes, I've heard of it, and I've always thought it was a load of malarkey."

At that moment, a harried mother who was handling three small children bumped him in the back. He turned his head, about to say something smart, when the woman said, "I'm sorry, sir."

He nodded and under his breath he said, "I hate all these Muggles."

"What did you say?" Hermione asked sharply. He bent down to pick up his scarf, which was knocked off his shoulders when the woman ran into him, and he looked up into her eyes as he straightened. She looked angry. She was actually tapping her toe, her arms crossed. He wanted to laugh, because she looked so cross.

"I said I hate luggage; let's go find something else for your father." He pulled on her hand and they continued to walk. He picked up the earlier subject. "Now, about this giving and receiving rubbish, I've always found it better to receive."

She stopped again. He had to stop as well, since she dropped her hand from the crook of his arm. "Do you really think that?"

"I said it, didn't I?" he snorted. "And before you argue your side any longer, I have to say that most people feel that way, Granger. You may be the only exception."

"I wonder," she began, "I mean, I know I really like getting my mystery presents, and I'm not giving the giver anything in return, so perhaps you have a valid point."

Draco smiled. He KNEW he had a valid point, and he was happy that he had proved it to her. He said, "Exactly. You're happy getting these presents from whomever this person is, which proves my point, and also proves that maybe you aren't an exception."

"But that would reason that he's not getting any joy or happiness from giving me joy and happiness by giving me the presents. It means he's only giving me these things in the hope that I'll give him something in return, that is, if your theory is right."

Wait! That wasn't right. Draco **was** getting joy and happiness seeing her joy and happiness when she opened each present. Yes, he did want something in return for his presents, but not presents of his own. He wanted her. However, that didn't mean he wasn't happy giving her these things. He was happier than he had been in months, maybe years. Each time he thought out and executed one of the 'days of Christmas' he felt extreme happiness. Ah, Granger was good. She proved her point, and squashed his into the ground, but he could hardly tell her that.

And he didn't have to, because at that moment, two teenage boys bumped into her from behind, causing her almost to stumble. He caught her arm quickly and gave the boys a glaring look.

"Watch it you wankers," Draco barked to the boys.

One gave him a rude hand gesture and the other made a vulgar comment about Hermione and how she looked 'nice' in her sweater, but he didn't quite say it like that. Draco almost drew out his wand.

As if sensing this, Hermione pulled Draco's wand arm down and said, "They're just kids, Draco, it doesn't matter."

"I hate Muggles, the whole lot of them, and this place is crawling with them," he said. He didn't mean to say it, but he did, it was said, and he couldn't retract it.

"Listen, do you want to leave? I have to stay, but if you don't want to be here with me, you can leave. I sense you're in a bad mood, and it's making me be in a bad mood," she informed him. He didn't say a word, or move a muscle to her statement. Finally, she said, "This is a Muggle mall, full of Muggles, and it's a big place, three floors, over two hundred stores, so if you're staying we need a game plan."

She ushered him over to a bench, took out her list, to decide which floor to go to first, and to which stores. She sat close to him; both their heads bent to look over her list, her hair tickled his cheek. She smelled very nice today. Like apples and cinnamon. He placed one arm across the back of the bench, and then as if it was a natural thing to do, he let it drop to her shoulders as she continued to talk. She didn't seem to notice.

"Does that sound good?" she finally asked, looking up into his eyes.

He hadn't heard one word she had said. "You were right. It's better to give than receive," was his response.

She smiled, patted his knee with her hand (HER HAND TOUCHED HIS KNEE!) and she said, "Okay, that was the conversation we were having before this one, but I'm glad I'm bringing you over to the light side."

"I had hoped to bring you over to the dark side," he joked. He noticed her hand was still on his knee; his arm was still around her shoulders. To all these little Muggles, they must look like a couple. He could lean over and kiss her so easily.

He was about to do that when she said, "Shall we go to the third floor first?"

"Whatever floor is the least congested, with the least Muggles, that's fine," he said, feeling somewhat dejected. She stood, but then his happiness came back when she reached down and took his hand. She kept his hand in hers as they started toward the escalators.

She stepped on first, and he stepped on right after. She dropped his hand but turned to face him. "This reminds me of the magical stairs back in school," she teased.

"Yes, this place is a lot like Hogwarts," he agreed, only he was being sarcastic. "Except there are Muggles here."

"You're obsessed with Muggles," she said with a smile.

"Hardly. I can't even stand the sight of most of them," he said with a sour expression. "I don't know how they can stand being like they are. It must be terrible."

Hermione looked shocked and said, "Well, a few million people would disagree with you and say that it's not too bad. I thought you were over your pureblood bigotry. They're just people, like you and me." She turned around on the escalator, and then took his hand again when they stepped on the next one to get to the next floor.

Again, he disagreed. "They aren't like you and me. We're superior, and I'm not a bigot. I work in your department, with you, taking care of all things Mugglish, don't I?"

"Mugglish isn't a word and I wonder why you bother to work in our department if that's really how you feel," she said seriously. She turned to face him again. She stepped down one of the moving steps to be closer. He placed his hand on her back, to steady her, he told himself. He kept it there for the same reason.

He had no remark or answer for her comment. He couldn't tell her that he went to work in their department to be near her. She started to laugh anyway and said, "You're like this Muggle cartoon character called the Grinch. He hated all the people in Whoville because they loved Christmas and because they were Whos and he wasn't one, at least I don't think he was, although I don't know what he was, but you're just like him. At the end of the cartoon he loves Christmas, he loves the Whos, and his heart grows bigger. You, Draco Malfoy, are like the Grinch."

"Is this fellow dashing and good looking and extremely wealthy with loads of friends?" he asked. They started on the last escalator. This time, he held her hand and led the way. They stood on the same step.

She laughed before she answered his question and said, "It's an American show, and I've only seen it once, but I believe he's green, ugly, and he lives in a cave and his only friend is his little dog, so yeah, he's just like you." She openly laughed at her joke.

Draco didn't like that comparison, not one, little bit. He frowned. She leaned toward him, reached up to his face, and touched the side of his mouth, to push it upwards. That shocked him. She said, "Oh, don't frown, Grinchy-poo. It's Christmas, and I'll help you enjoy it."

"Grinchy-poo?" he mumbled back. His hand went up to his mouth. It still tingled from her fingertips. He felt better already.

His joy didn't last long. She took him to at least one hundred of the over two hundred stores. He knew the real reason she wanted him to come along was to be her 'pack mule' given the fact that he was carrying at least twenty-five bags when they were finished. He was tired, hot, cranky, and when he complained he was hungry she fed him some rubbish that was wrapped in paper and served on a plastic tray, and worst of all, they had to sit around even more Muggles! After they ate, she went to the loo, and he pretended as if he had to go as well. He went into the men's room, (somehow he managed to fit into one of the stalls with all the bags) and he shrunk all of her bags neatly to fit into one.

He stepped out of the men's room and looked around for her. It was time for the 'six geese a laying'. He couldn't find her anywhere. He even stood up on the same fountain where they had met that morning, the one near where they ate, and he looked all around, but she seemed to be gone.

What if one of the Muggles did something to her? Oh, that's right, she was used to Muggles. She could probably handle them. She helped Potter defeat the Dark Lord, so she could probably, undoubtedly, handle a few stupid Muggles. He jumped off the fountain and turned around one last time, scanning the crowd slowly for her.

Then he saw her.

She was heading right toward him, holding a brown cardboard box, a smile plastered on her face. Fabulous! She had found her present!

"Draco, I was looking everywhere for you!" she exclaimed. "I finished in the toilet, and I was about to go back to our table, when I spied a bookstore, right there." She pointed to a store across from the fountain. "I decided to take a quick peek in there while you were in the men's room, and when I walked in there, one of the clerks immediately asked me if my name was Hermione Granger."

"Really, how odd," Draco said, amused.

"I know!" she said exuberantly. She pushed on his chest. "Anyway, he said that he was to watch for someone matching my description with the name Hermione Granger. When I confirmed that I was she, he handed me this box. There's a tag attached and on the tag it just says, '_Six geese a laying'_. Come on; let's sit down so I can open it!"

She seemed so happy. He was happy she was happy. She took his hand again, which he liked, and they walked back over to an empty bench. They sat down, side by side, he placed their bag by their feet, and she opened the brown cardboard box, which was roughly the size of a shoebox.

She gasped when she saw what it contained. "OH, Draco, look! Do you think these are real?"

"I highly doubt they're real, since the real things are very rare, and very much accounted for, in museums and private collections, but they are very nice reproductions," he offered. He picked one up from the box, a blue and white encrusted crystal one and handed it to her.

"Of course they're not real Fabergé eggs, how silly of me, but they're beautiful, just the same," she said. She handed the blue and white one back to him, only to pick up a red, gold and green one. It opened to reveal a snowman inside. She smiled so brightly that he felt overwhelmed.

She proceeded to examine all six eggs in the same fashion before she asked, "Draco, do you have anything to do with these presents?"

"Me?" he asked back. He wanted to take credit, for credit should be given where credit was due, but he wanted to wait, because he had so many nice things planned in the days ahead, and he wasn't ready for her to discover that he was the her true love yet. "Seriously, Granger, I was in the loo when you got it. How would I have managed? However, I think seeing how happy you are proves my point from earlier. You're beaming with happiness, so it's better to get than give."

She bumped her shoulder into his, smiled again, and kissed his cheek. He placed his hand on his cheek, his smile gone. "Why, why did you kiss me?" he stammered.

"Because I think I might have proven my point instead, Draco." She looked at the eggs again, carefully, 'ewwing' and 'awwing' appropriately, and then she placed them gently back in the box.

He watched her, with that big smile on her face, and he knew that she was right. Her point was proven. It WAS better to give than receive, because he was happier watching her receive these presents than he had ever been receiving any of his own, at any time, his entire life.

He stood up when she placed the lid on the box. He said, "Take me home, Granger, since I can't disapparate in front of these heathens."

"Shall do, Malfoy, it's the least I can do," she said. He wondered what she meant by that? She linked her arm through his again as they headed toward the doors. She said, "Tomorrow is Sunday. Did you know?"

"Wow, Granger knows the days of the week," he joked. "Why are you mentioning this? What manual labor or menial thing do you have planned for me tomorrow?"

"I thought we could decorate your tree tomorrow, Draco," she offered.

They walked outside. It was snowing. He lifted his face to the snow. He smiled. He turned back toward her and said, "Be there by three and bring your own decorations, because I don't have a bloody thing, not even the tree."


	7. Chapter 7 Seven Swans a Swimming

**Part 7: Seven Swans a Swimming**

Draco felt wretched the next morning. There was no other word to describe how he felt. He was sick. Ill. Possibly dying. True, most people thought of him as a hypochondriac, and even he would admit there was some merit to that frame of reference in regards to him, but this time he was genuinely sick. He probably caught some dreadful Muggle disease yesterday at that Muggle mall. He called his Healer early in the morning, because he knew he had a date with Granger in the afternoon, and the last thing he wanted was to be ill, seriously, but the man said he had…get this, a common cold.

First, nothing regarding Draco Malfoy was remotely common. Second, Draco was almost one hundred percent certain he had some rare Muggle borne (not Muggle-born) illness. Therefore, he went to St. Mungo's to get a second opinion. The fools there told him that he had a common cold.

Idiots. The whole lot of them.

He felt dreadful. How could someone with something mundane as a cold feel as appalling, pitiful, awful as he felt? It was inhumanly possible. He had a sore throat, his ears hurt, and his body ached, his eyes hurt, his head ached, and his fingernails hurt. YES, HIS FINGERNAILS! He had weird phlegm coming out of at least two orifices and he knew his fever was probably higher than ever humanly recorded.

How could he possible keep his date to decorate his flat with Granger if he was sick? He was about to Owl her to cancel when he received an Owl from her instead. His house elf brought it to his room, to his bed, where he read it.

She Owled him requesting his address. He didn't know what to do. Perhaps he should let her come over after all. She could, perhaps, take care of him. He could use some love and attention right now. He sent an Owl back with his address. Then she Owled him to find out if she could apparate directly inside his building, seeing as he lived in a magical apartment building. He Owled back to say that he would fix the wards to accept her.

Then she Owled him to ask him if perhaps she should just apparate right to the door of his flat, or would he prefer that she apparate to the outside door of the building.

He Owled her telling her that he would open the damn floo for her instead, for Merlin's sakes. Didn't she know he was too ill for these stupid antics?

He thought that was the end of that, until he got another Owl. This one said that she didn't want to Floo because it was a dirty way to travel, and besides, she would have too many packages. FOR GOODNESS SAKES! Didn't the woman know from the tone of his Owls that he was ill? Why was she harassing him like this?

He knew that she was waiting for his return Owl when he knocked at her door. Draco looked in the window beside her door. He saw her look out at the same time. She looked shocked to see him. She also looked at her watch. It was almost three. She probably wondered why he was there; she was supposed to be at his house by now. He figured that she probably didn't want anyone or anything to interrupt her assignation with him. She opened the door slowly.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, shocked.

"I'm here to pick you up, to bring you to my house, because I couldn't stand the thought of having to answer another bloody Owl." He shivered and then he sneezed. "Are you ready?"

She nodded, picked up a large satchel, and placed it on his shoulder. He almost fell over, it was that heavy. "What in the blazes is in here?" he asked. Then he coughed, loudly.

"Everything we'll need to decorate your entire flat, of course, I had to shrink it all," she said with a smile.

He frowned. "What?" she asked. "Why are you frowning? You told me to bring everything, even a tree."

"Yes, yes, fine, that's not it." He stepped into her house. "You already decorated your house inside. I thought I was to help you decorate."

"I wanted your help, but seriously, I couldn't wait to do it, because my party is only six days away, and besides, it will be ever so much fun to decorate your house with you, don't you think? It may even be more fun!" She grabbed another bag and said, "Come on, let's go!" She held out her hand. "Take me away, Malfoy," she said, smiling. She reached over and took his hand.

"Can't you see anything different about me today?" he asked, dropping her hand. Seriously, was the woman blind to the infirmed?

"How so?" she asked back.

"I'M ILL!" he said. He sniffed his nose and then barked a cough.

She frowned now. She reached out her hand and felt his head. "You do feel warm, and you'll slightly pale, and you seem irritable, but those last two things are normal for you, and frankly, you play up illnesses a lot, Malfoy, so I can never really tell when you're ill and when you're not."

He threw her large satchel on the ground and said, "Fine, but today I'm really sick! I went to the Healer, and then to St. Mungo's and they said I have a horrible, terrible cold! I probably caught it at that stupid mall yesterday!"

"Yes, well, it was crawling with Muggle germs," she said, sarcastically. She pulled on his arm and said, "Well, come sit down on the couch."

He pulled his arm from her hand and said, "I just want to go home, be alone, and be miserable, all by myself!"

"Okay, I'll take you home, but I don't think you should be alone. I'll go with you, and we'll get you to bed, and then I'll decorate your apartment for you," she decided. "You'll feel better once you get to bed, and once your flat is decorated. Also, don't you want to see what my mystery gift will be today? It will probably be delivered while I'm at your place. It's seven swans today. I wonder what it will be? Come on, let's go." She picked up the large satchel and reached for his hand again.

Why did she assume that her 'Seven Swans a Swimming' would be delivered while she was at his place? Was she beginning to suspect him? Suddenly, he not only felt ill, but a bit peeved. He didn't want her to suspect yet. He felt he had been circumspect in regard to the gifts, so damn her anyway for being so bloody smart for figuring it out so soon.

"Frankly, the thought of spending my day with you and all your little happy sunshine, Christmas crap makes me more nauseated than I feel already. I'd really like to be alone, Granger," he complained. He didn't know why he was being so disagreeable, but perhaps it had something to do with the her being so damn REASONABLE!

"I'll make you some soup. Would you like that?" She seemed so pleasant. What was wrong with her? He just insulted her and she wanted to make him effing soup?

"I don't know what's going on with you, but I'm not sure I like it, because I can't quite pinpoint what's going on here." Yet, he felt he did know what was going on. She knew. He knew that she knew he was the giver of the gifts. He could tell that she could tell, and again, he felt ambiguous about that. He wasn't certain he wanted her to know yet. He wanted it to remain a secret. Therefore, the little thing he had planned for 'seven swans a swimming' was going to wait until he left her house. Maybe it would even wait until midnight. He had planned for an Owl to deliver it to his flat, as she suspected, but that _would_ be too transparent.

When neither of them said anything, (not counting two coughs and a sneeze from Draco) Hermione finally said, "Let's not ruin everything, Draco. Let's just go to your flat, like we'd planned."

He knew that she knew! That statement alone proved it! He just knew it. It wasn't that he minded that she knew, he just didn't like that he didn't know how she felt about it. "Do you know a secret that perhaps I should know?" he asked.

She looked at him as if he was a loon and then she leaned closer and said, "That you're a nutter?"

"I was just thinking that you looked as if you thought that, and no, I don't mean that," he said, still frowning. "I feel rotten, Granger. I simply can't stand the thought of moving a muscle." That much was true. He wasn't playing this time. He really felt poorly. He was also a bit sad. She knew, he didn't want her to know yet, and he didn't know what she thought about it all. He walked into her living room, kicked off his shoes, fell over on her couch, and then right on cue, he coughed.

She helped him removed his coat. She covered him with an uncomfortable blanket, which was itchy. When he complained, she removed it, and went up to HER BED and got a comfortable quilt and placed it around him. It was soft, and it smelled like her. She made him tea and broth. She sat beside him on the couch, and she placed a cold compress on his head. She gave him medicine for his cough and his runny nose.

In other words, she took care of him. He had never felt so loved. Suddenly, he didn't care if she knew or not.

When he was little, he would often pretend to be ill to gain the attention of his parents. His mother would act concerned, put him right to bed, stroke his hair, call the Healers, and then leave the rest of his care to the house elves. His father would buy him a new toy and bring it to him. However, neither of them ever took the time really to care for him, the way this woman was caring for him, right now.

He coughed again, and he felt pain everywhere. His body hurt so badly. Even his toes hurt. The tip of his nose might even hurt. It was all her fault. She forced him to go to that Muggle mall, now he was sick, and she was well, because she was immune, because of her Muggle background. It wasn't fair, damn it! He wanted them both to be well. Was that too much to ask?

He threw the soft quilt she put over him off to the ground and coughed harder. She walked back into the living room, (he was beginning to think she had abandoned him) and picked up the quilt and placed it back on his legs. He threw it over the back of the couch. Without a sound she stood, and then folded it properly, placing it by his feet. As she stood over him to fluff his pillow, her hair touched his face, tickled his nose, and made him feel flushed and confused. He complained of being hot, so she helped him remove his jumper. He threw off his tee shirt, too. She looked at his bare chest and blushed.

He would have smiled, if he had felt better.

She sat beside him again, pulled the quilt up from the foot of the couch, and covered his body and his bare chest. He was sure she did it more for her benefit than his. She felt his head again. Just to be difficult, he knocked her hand away. She laughed and placed it back on his forehead. He liked it there, so this time, he let it stay.

"I don't think the fever reducer helped. You don't feel cooler," she announced. Damn right, he wasn't cooler. He felt as if his blood was on fire. Of course, it might have more to do with the fact that she was right beside him, leaning over him, touching him, than his fever. Leaning over once more, she reached for a glass of ice water and said, "Here, have another drink."

He propped up on one elbow. She held the glass. He dribbled water on his bare chest. She laughed and took a tissue and touched it lightly to his warm skin. She moved her hand slowly, tenderly, over his chest. His thoughts became muddled. She was so close, and he felt so feverish. The next thing he knew he moaned and fell back on the sofa. He closed his eyes.

He was in pain now, but not the type of pain from a fever or cold. He was in the type of pain that would only go away with a cold shower or a nice tumble between the sheets. She didn't know that, however, and she misinterpreted his moan as him feeling worse. She looked concerned.

"I wish I had thermometer. If your fever is very high, I should take you back to St. Mungo's. My mother always took a person's temperature with her lips."

"What the hell?" Did he say that aloud?

He must have, because she laughed and said, "Yes, I know, not very scientific, and I'm not sure how a person's lips can differentiate between a fever when a mere hand can't, but there you go, that's how she did it. Let me see…" She leaned over, he felt her breath on his face, and her hands went to his cheeks. She placed her lips softly to his forehead, and she kissed it lightly.

She pulled back, and looked at him, surprised. She couldn't possibly look as surprised as he felt. Without emotion, or any hint of a smile, she softly said, "I can't tell if you have a fever by that method or not."

"Maybe you should do it again," he urged. Lord, he was delirious.

Yet, she said, "Okay" and leaned closer, her lips grazing his forehead anew, her breasts pressed against his quilt covered chest, and unbelievably, she sat back up and with one hand touching her lips, her other hand on his bare chest, she said, "I think you do have a fever. My lips feel warm."

"I know I have a fever, because my whole body feels like it's on fire," he said surprised. "You kissed me, Granger. Twice. You took my temperature with your lips." He knew he was making a mountain out of a molehill, but bloody hell she kissed him! TWICE!

"I was only checking your temperature," she assured him.

"Yes, with your lips!" he pointed out.

She giggled a nervous sort of titter and said, "I best get you some more medication." She stroked his bangs away from his forehead and stood from the couch, and started from the room.

"You best get me a cold compress for my crotch," he said when she left the room. My God, he had a fever, he had a cold, and she kissed him and he felt too wretched to do anything about it. Why were the stars against him? Why wasn't anything working out his way? She kissed him only because he was ill, and yet, because he was ill, he couldn't do anything about her kiss. He was in a quandary, and he thought he might throw up any second.

He fell asleep, and when he woke up, she wasn't home. He didn't know where she was, but he knew he had to 'water the dragon', so to speak, so he went to find her loo. He walked upstairs, found the toilet, and then walked around her house. It was a nice, comfortable house. Rather large for one person, but small by Draco's standards. There were four bedrooms upstairs. Two were obviously guestrooms. One was made into an office. The last was her bedroom.

He walked around this room. The walls were painted a muted sage green. The bedding was floral…red, gold, and green. There was toile de Jouy wallpaper, plaid curtains, and books everywhere. Curiously, all the gifts she had received so far were lined up on her dresser. He smiled when he saw them. He sat down on her bed. He picked up a pillow and hugged it. He saw a picture of her with Weasley and Potter on her bedside table. He flicked Weasley with his finger, and then placed the picture face down on the table beside the bed. Then he had a thought. He would leave her present here. He didn't care if it was obvious that it was from him. He rather wanted her to know, now. He arranged the 'seven swans a swimming' on her nightstand as he heard her calling his name. He didn't want to be caught in her room, so he called out, "In the loo!" He walked to the top of the stairs.

She walked halfway up, and said, "Do you feel any better?"

He actually did. "Not at all," he lied.

"Well, come back down." She held out her hand for him. She was waiting…for _him_. For him? He walked down to the middle landing and took her hand. She clasped his hand in hers, and with her free hand, she reached up for his forehead. "Still warm," she said in a mere hush of a voice.

He felt more than warm. He was hot. He was hot for Hermione Granger. She guided him slowly back down the stairs. Once down there, she said, "Here, hold your things, while I apparate us to your flat. That's where I've been. I've got it all decorated for you. I thought you'd be more comfortable at your own place, and I knew you were looking forward to having it decorated, but don't fear, I don't plan to decorate and run. I'll stay tonight and take care of you, in case you need me, okay?"

She tried to pass his shoes to him, but he dropped them. "What?" he asked. He knew he was being a bit dense today, but seriously, he had a fever, so that was his excuse.

"While you slept, I went to your flat and decorated it. I know you probably wanted to decorate it with me, so please don't be angry. I thought I would surprise you. Please, say you're pleased." She looked at him so hopefully, so expectantly.

He was pleased. He was awed. He was surprised and shocked. She did all of that for him, and what was more, she didn't plan to just 'decorate and run'. She was planning to stay and take care of him. No one ever stayed and took care of him. My God, he loved this woman.

Once in his own flat, on his couch, with his new tree and lights and wreathes and holly berries and everything around him he felt incredibly better! She lit a fire in his fireplace and came to sit on a chair by the sofa. He sat up and patted the place beside him on he couch.

Without word of complaint she sat down beside him. She laced her hand in his. "Do you like it?"

"It's wonderful," he said truthfully.

"Is all the decorations to your taste? I gave everything a lot of thought," she pointed out.

He looked around again. He could tell that she had picked out everything with him in mind, and it was perfect. "It's better than I would have imagined." He placed his head on her shoulder. "Granger, thank you for everything. Thank you for the lovely decorations, and for putting up with me. Usually, people abandon me when I'm ill, because I'm out of sorts, and a bit dramatic and spoiled acting."

"Do tell," she joked. He looked up at her and smiled. He realized that she had yet to receive her seven swans a swimming. He wanted her to get it before midnight, and it was already past 11:30 at night. "Granger, perhaps you should go home now. I'm feeling very tired." The night was almost over. It was imperative that she got one present a day, for everything to work out right.

"Alright, it is late, and I'm sure you want to rest. If you don't feel up to coming into work tomorrow, let me know." She stood up. She stretched. He stared at her and he wanted her so much he ached. He looked down.

She bent down, cupped his cheek and said, "Are you sure you'll be okay?"

He grabbed her wrist. He pulled her back down to the couch. She stumbled and fell against him back to the sofa. She placed her free hand against his chest. Her other hand was still held captive, her wrist in his hand. She looked at him confused.

"Hell, Granger, I'm fine. I'm better than fine. I'm bloody fabulous, thanks to you. I'm going to kiss you now. I hope you don't get sick." He leaned over and brushed his lips gently, softly on top of hers, applying only a bit of pressure before he lifted them away. He really didn't want her to get sick.

When he lifted his face from hers, she looked surprised. He still had her wrist. Her other hand went to her mouth. She touched her lips lightly. Then she touched his. That shocked him more than anything she had done all day. Her fingertips traveled softly from his lips to his cheeks to his shoulder. She leaned closer and kissed his lips in return. Her kiss was incredibly soft, sweet, and swift.

She pulled her hand from his wrist and stood up, stumbling slightly. She smiled and said, "Well, feel better, Draco. I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe my seven swans will be waiting for me when I get home."

He nodded and leaned back against the sofa pillows. She picked up her things, said goodbye, and disapparated away. He closed his eyes and smiled. He knew that when she got home, and went up to her bedroom, she would find her 'mystery gift' on her pillow, and frankly, he didn't care if she knew it was from him or not.

It was a snow globe. It showed a male and a female swan, swimming on a pond of shimmering white, with ice and snow all around. True, they weren't exactly seven swans, but none of the other gifts were accurate either.

Ands swans mated for life. That was the point he wanted to get across. It was what he intended to do with her. Once he had her, he was going to keep her forever.


	8. Chapter 8 Eight Maids a Milking

**Part 8: Eight Maids a Milking**

"You're lying!" Terry spat with a laugh. "I know I saw you do it at school!"

"I swear, I'm telling the truth! I never did!" Hermione said. Draco walked into the office right at that moment.

Terry laughed and said, "It's impossible to have gone to Hogwarts and to have not done it at least once, Granger!"

"Well, I don't care what you say, I'm telling you that I never did it," she argued.

Draco looked from Terry to Hermione and then sat down at his desk. He was feeling much better. He missed work that morning, to go St. Mungo's. He wanted to make sure he was feeling better for the upcoming week. There were very important things happening each day this week, and he needed to feel better. Hermione looked up from her desk as he entered and she stood up and walked over to him as he removed his jacket.

"How are feeling this afternoon? Are you better?" she asked. She took his jacket from him, her fingertips skimming his. That alone made him feel slightly lightheaded.

"I'm much improved," he answered. "What were you and Boot discussing when I entered."

"Hermione claims she's never been ice skating. I swear I saw her skate on the lake at Hogwarts when we were in school," Terry announced.

"No, I never, I swear. I have very weak ankles, and I've never been ice skating," she practically whined. "Remember, Malfoy! Remember that time I was going to try to skate at school, but I hurt my ankle before I even started, and I swore I would never try again."

"How would I recall if you'd skated in school? We didn't share the warm and fuzzy feelings back then," he recalled.

"Because you were the reason I hurt myself!" she moaned. "Oh, you must remember."

He shrugged. Terry laughed and said, "It must be a very memorable story. Let me guess, you, Harry and Ron were out saving the world…"

"But of course," Draco interjected.

Hermione gave him a dirty look as Terry continued. "And one day, as you and Ron were bickering back and forth, and Harry was angst ridden as usual, you decided to have some fun and go skating, and while you were giving everyone an oral history about the very first ice skater, Malfoy and his goons, lurking about, as only Malfoy and his goons could do…"

"But of course," Draco repeated.

"Snuck up behind you three, sent a jelly-leg curse at you, and you fell on the ice, and there went your professional ice skating career right down the drain," Terry ended.

Draco smiled as Hannah and Dennis laughed. Hermione looked slightly peeved. She snapped, "That wasn't it at all! Harry and Ron weren't even there. It was fifth year, and I was with Ginny Weasley and we were joining some other Gryffindor girls who were ice-skating. I had never done it before, and I was slightly nervous, because when I do something, I like to give it my all, do my best, and all."

"But of course," Draco reiterated.

"Is that all you can say?" she asked. "Anyhow, I was off to a little section of the lake by myself, and I had charmed the skates to stay upright, which isn't really cheating by the way, and I hadn't even started yet. I was merely walking upon the ice, about to join the others, when Draco, Goyle and Nott all walked by and one of them threw a stick across the ice, and I fell. I got a pretty nasty cut on my leg, I remember. I also sprained my left ankle very badly. They all laughed at me and said some humiliating things. I was humiliated, as usual in my school experience, and I swore I would never skate again, and I never have. I have no desire to do so."

She sat back down at her desk and then looked at Draco and said, "You really don't recall that, do you? Something so humiliating to me doesn't even register with you." She looked away, and then started some work.

Of course, Draco remembered it. That was the reason Boot was to bring up ice-skating today. He had something nice planned for her this afternoon. Terry nodded toward Malfoy and then left the room. Hannah and Dennis began discussing something inane, and Hermione continued to ignore Draco.

He walked over to her desk; his hand went to her shoulder. She shrugged it off. He touched her again, this time he played with a strand of hair, then rested his hand on her shoulder, and sat beside her arm, on her desk. "Hey, Granger, I recall that incident. I do. I was a rotten kid, as you know."

"Ah ha," she said as an affirmative. He still had a strand of her hair. He twirled it around his finger. He looked over his shoulder to make sure Hannah and Crebbly couldn't see.

He leaned over closer and said, "Granger, I think I'm still not up to working the rest of the day. Do you mind if I go back home?"

She made a waving motion with her hand. He pulled on her hair, hard. "OUCH!" she yelped.

"Oh, sorry. So, will you walk with me to the lifts?" He dropped her strand of hair.

"What? Why would you need me to walk with you to the lifts?" She dropped her pen and stared at him.

"I want to make sure you're not angry with me for something I did twenty years ago," he said with a smirk.

"I'm not," she smiled back. "Go on, go home. I had better see you tomorrow, though. We have that big meeting with the Minister's office tomorrow, and I need my whole team there."

"Yes, Miss Granger." He stood from the desk and said, "Will you still walk with me to the lifts?"

"Oh my gosh!" She slammed her hands on her desk. Dennis and Hannah both looked over at her. "I have work to do, Malfoy!"

"Go on, walk with him, Hermione, or else he might get lost," Hannah said. She stood from her desk and said, "I'll finish up your report. Go on."

Hermione shook her head and stood from her desk. Draco winked at Hannah and she mouthed the words, 'You owe me one.' He nodded to her. Hermione waited at the door and Draco walked up to it, grabbed his things, and then grabbed her things as well.

"Why do I need my coat and hat and gloves to walk you to the lifts?" she asked.

"It's cold in the hallways. We're several levels underground, as you know," he said as way of explanation. He put on his things first, then held her coat out for her and she placed one arm in it, and then the other. He turned her around to face him and he pulled her closer to him by the collar of her coat. She jerked forward, her eyes wide. He laughed a low, almost menacing laugh, and then his hands went slowly from the collar of her coat to the top button. Her head tilted down to follow his hands. She watched as he buttoned the top button. She looked down at his hands and then up at his face. She blushed.

His eyes remained on hers as his hands went slowly down her jacket to button the other three buttons. She licked her lips once. He wanted to lean forward and lick them as well, but there were other people in the room. He felt overly warm now, wrapped up as he was. Her face seemed flushed, too. He wrapped her scarf slowly, very slowly, once, twice, around her neck, and then he stuffed her gloves in the pocket of his coat before he placed her hat on her head.

She smiled when he pulled the hat over her eyes. "Are you okay in there, Granger?" he asked. He pushed the hat off her eyes and then winked at her. She was still smiling. He was smiling, too.

He opened the door. When they started down the hallway, they saw several people they knew. Hermione said hello to everyone they met. Draco wondered what she would do if he reached over and took her hand. He decided to find out. She was still talking to one of their coworkers… "…well, tell Evan I said hello when you see him again."

That was when he did it. He reached over and took her hand in his. He held it loosely. He didn't clasp his fingers around hers, which would be more intimate. He merely held her hand. So far, she didn't seem to notice. She was still speaking to the same witch as before. "I'll call you sometime next week and we'll arrange that, okay? I'm off now, so goodbye," she finished. She turned to look at Draco and she smiled again. They were holding hands and she smiled at him.

She had to know they were holding hands. She was generally very smart. He took a quick glance down at their hands, to see if she would mention it, and she didn't. He gave her hand a slight squeeze. She still didn't say a word. Perhaps she had paralysis in that hand, and it had lost all feeling, so she didn't know he was holding it. That must be it.

Wait, she squeezed back. SHE SQUEEZED BACK! They were almost to the lifts, when she squeezed back. "Here are the lifts," she said. She dropped his hand. DAMN!

"Um, actually," he sputtered, "I need you to come with me somewhere first, okay?"

"Where?"

"It's a surprise." He waited to see what she would say.

She shrugged, took his hand again, and said, "Okay."

Alright, Draco Malfoy was officially in a dream. Hermione Granger was holding his hand, on her own, without magic, and she was coming along with him without argument. Either this was a dream or some freaky altered reality. They were almost to the room where he had the surprise for her when the worst thing in the world happened. They ran into Harry Potter.

"Hermione!" Harry called out from the other end of the corridor.

Draco cringed openly. Hermione dropped his hand. Great! She suddenly became aware she was holding his hand, or perhaps, she suddenly became ashamed of it. She took several steps forward, kissed Pothead's cheek, and said, "Harry, how have you been?"

"The better question would be how have you been? Ron told me that you broke up with him last week. Why, Hermione, why?" Harry asked. He suddenly noticed Draco standing by her side. "Malfoy, what are you doing there?"

"Standing, Potter. You're still a bit brain damaged from the old lightning bolt scar to the head, aren't you?" Draco asked snidely.

"I just meant, why are you standing next to Hermione. Run along," Harry stated.

Draco glared at the other man as Hermione said, "Draco and I were just on our way to a meeting."

Draco gave her a quick look. What a little liar she was.

"Well, can you have dinner with me tonight?" Harry beseeched. "I really want to find out what happened with you and Ron."

"I can't tonight, Harry," she explained.

"Let's go now, then. You're the boss, no one will mind. We'll have some coffee," he said.

She shook her head no even as she said, "I really can't Harry."

"Yes, sorry, Potter, but she's busy right now," Draco interrupted.

"What?" Harry asked, giving Draco an incredulous look, then looking the same way at Hermione.

"He's right. I have a very important meeting to get to," she lied. Draco's head snapped back toward her. Normally Draco would admire her for lying to Scarhead, except that she was lying to cover up being with him, and that hurt him for some reason. It hurt a lot.

Draco backed away from the pair, raised his hands in the air, and said, "You know what, Granger, I'll make your apologies at the meeting. You go be with your friend, you know, the one you aren't ashamed to be seen with. Goodbye." He turned on his heel and stormed down the hallway in the other direction. Stupid Harry Potter.

He felt a hand on his arm. It was she. He turned. Harry was still at the end of the hallway. She said, "I'm not ashamed to be seen with you!"

"Right," he snapped back. "That's why you lied about where you were going, and you dropped my hand when he came round. I don't mind. I understand. I'm not good enough to be your friend."

"Yes, yes you are!" she said desperately. She took his hand in hers and pulled him back down the hallway. Potter was still standing where they left him. He looked shocked that Hermione was holding Draco's hand. She looked at Wonder boy and said, "Harry, Draco and I were just going somewhere, but if you'd like, I'll talk to you tonight after work, okay, but for now, I promised to do something with Draco."

"What the bloody hell do you mean, do something with Draco? What's going on here, Hermione?" Harry asked, his eyes wide with shock.

"If you must know, Potter, we're going ice skating," Draco spat. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the top of it. Harry looked ready to spit fire. Draco wanted to laugh.

He dragged Hermione down another corridor and she called out, "See you later, Harry!" They stopped outside a normal looking door and Hermione said, "You're taking me ice skating?"

"Yes, I am," he answered. "Now, will you answer a question?"

"Of course," she said.

"Did you break up with Weasley because of me, or because of the gifts you've been getting?" he asked.

"Will you answer a question for me?" she asked him, instead of answering his. "Wouldn't that be the same thing?"

"Tricky, tricky, Granger," he said, pointing a finger in her face. "You're trying to get me to admit something that I'm not willing to admit yet. Fine, you keep your secrets for a while longer, and I'll keep mine, although neither of us is really very deft at keeping secrets, apparently." He opened the door to the room and it was pitch black inside. He pushed her in, closed the door, and then turned on the light.

Inside was a winter wonderland. No bigger than a normal office, it had, however, been totally transformed. There were none of the normal trappings of an office…no desks, no chairs, no file cabinets, no people. Instead, the entire floor space was an ice rink. There were trees along the edges. There were icicles hanging from the ceiling. There was even snow all around, even floating in the air.

"Draco," she said, in abandoned awe. She turned in a circle. He took her hand and led her to a bench.

"Your skates await, Granger," he said. He knelt next to the bench and he lifted her right leg. His hand went behind her stocking-covered calf. It started at her knee and caressed down to mid-calf. He removed her sensible shoe slowly. His hand went under her foot for a moment. Then he reached over for the gleaming-white ice skate. He placed it on her foot and with his wand, he laced it up tight.

"Too tight?" he asked.

"No, but, how, why?" she began.

"No time for questions," he said. He lifted her left leg. He removed the shoe first, but then kept the leg across his thigh for a moment. "Seriously, I do apologize for laughing at you when we were kids, but you know, it was Nott who threw the stick at you. I did tell him to do it, but still." He smiled, one corner of his mouth higher than the other. She lowered her head. He put a finger under her chin to force her head up. "I knew you were embarrassed back then. I even knew you were really hurt. That moment stayed in my mind for a long time. Do you forgive me?"

"We were kids," she said softly.

He dropped her leg and parted her legs slightly, to stand on his knees between them. He kept his finger under her chin and he said, "We aren't kids any longer, Hermione."

"No, we aren't," she said in a whisper.

"Am I forgiven?" he asked. He leaned closer and he kissed her mouth softly. She ducked her head again, as if embarrassed. He nudged it back up with his forehead on hers. "Granger, I've never known you to go this long without speaking."

She sighed, placed her hands on his shoulders, and pushed him away slightly, which alarmed him, until she said, "Hurry up with that other skate, Malfoy. I can't wait to learn to ice skate."

After the other skate was in place, and he had his black skates on as well, he stood up. He only had to take one step to cross over to the 'ice'. He turned to her and said, "Okay, stand up."

"Easier said than done, Malfoy," she joked. "Are these skates charmed not to fall."

"What do you think?" he said, hands on hips.

She stood and promptly fell over. He laughed, hard.

"You arse!" she laughed back. She threw a handful of snow at him.

He threw her gloves down to her and said, "Here, if you're going to throw snow at me, wear gloves. Charming skates to stay upright would be cheating, Hermione, and I'm appalled that you would think that I would help you to cheat. However, I have no such compunction when it comes to me, so mine are charmed to stand upright and even to skate by themselves."

She put her gloves on and then threw another snowball at him. It hit him on the side of the face. He shook the snow off and reached down to help her up. "I'm joking, Granger. I'm an avid skater. I don't need a bloody charm to skate."

He helped her to stand, placed a hand around her waist, and held her hand with his other hand. He began to push off with his right leg, however, her legs were straight and tight.

"Move your legs, Granger!" he ordered.

"How?"

"You've been walking since you've been at least three, so I'm shocked again that I have to tell you how."

"I walked at ten months old, and I meant, how do I move them so that I don't fall?" she quipped back.

"Push off with your right leg, and then push with your left." He removed the hand from her waist, and let it slide around her back. He kept her hand in his, however, for safety and because he liked it.

Very soon, they were skating. They were laughing, joking, falling down, (twice) and having fun. He let her go once and raced around the small space, although it was too small really to be much fun. He raced up behind her and pulled her around, turning her, and then pulling on her hands, pulled her as he skated backwards.

"Are you having fun?" he asked.

"More than you'll know," she answered honestly.

"Are you ready to stop?"

"More than you'll know," she repeated with a laugh.

He helped her back to the bench, and they removed their own skates. "Oh, my legs hurt and I can't believe how cold I am. This is a handy piece of magic, Malfoy, by the way, in case I didn't praise you yet."

"Praise away, praise away," he said. He placed their skates under the bench and then he went over to the end of the room, under a tall 'tree'.

"What are you doing over there?" she asked. She stood.

"Sit your arse back down," he ordered. He turned. He had a tray in his hands. She sat back down and he joined her. He placed the tray between them. "Now, here's my cover story, and you may believe it, or not, but I have it practiced this way, so this is the way I'm going to deliver this, okay?"

She shook her head, confused, and answered, "Go at it."

"Oh, look, Hermione! Look what I found in the corner of the room. Someone must have left it there while we were ice skating. How odd. It has your name on it. Shall we look and see what it is?" He delivered his little speech with a slightly exaggerated, loud, tone.

She laughed and said, "Where's the note?"

"Bloody hell, Granger, where did I leave the effing note?" He stood back up and said, "Don't peek under that silver cover!" He ran back over to the corner of the room, found the note and brought it to her. It had her name on it.

She opened it, and as expected, it said, _"Eight Maids a Milking." _She placed the note by her hip and clapped her hands. "May I remove the top now?"

"In the infamous words of Hermione J. Granger, Go at it," he said.

She removed the top off the silver tray. On the tray was eight china cups, all with steaming hot cups of cocoa. Each one had a little 'placard' in front of them. She read the first aloud. "White Belgium hot chocolate. Hmmm, that seems like it would be wonderful." She put the cup to her mouth, took a tentative drink and then smiled widely. "That's divine."

"Try that one," Draco said, pointing to another. "French vanilla. I bet that's good."

She tried it and made a sort of face. "Too sweet," she said.

He leaned forward and said, "You have foam on your upper lip, may I?"

She started to put her hand up to her lip, but he grabbed her hand quickly, pulled it down, and then leaned over the tray with the cocoa and he kissed her upper lip. She smiled slowly and asked, "Did I really have foam on my lip?"

"Have you ever known me to lie?" he asked.

She laughed.

They tried all eight cups. In the end, she drank all of the white Belgium hot chocolate and most of the dark cocoa. He drank all of the French vanilla and some of the hazelnut.

As he was cleaning up the room, she took the note with the 'Eight Maids a Milking' and one of the teacups as a souvenir. He thought that was sweet.

They were walking out of the room, side by side, when she reached down for his hand. He smiled. He was forever smiling around this woman. They went to the lifts for real this time, and he said, "Well, I'll really must go home now. I'll see you tomorrow for the big meeting."

"Draco, thank you for a lovely new memory to replace my old sad memory. That means a lot to me. Also, well, thanks for sharing my eight maids a milking. I have to admit I'm glad my mystery gift giver didn't really give me eight maids milking. I've been a bit worried about some of these gifts, but so far, they've all been wonderful." She leaned forward, hands on his shoulders, and she placed a warm kiss on his lips.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Nine ladies dancing. I can hardly wait!" She ran back down the hall, looked back once, waved at him, smiled, and then turned the corner.

He got on the lifts and sighed. He could hardly wait either, and he really hoped she liked to dance.

* * *

_A/N: We are having a blizzard warning here! Looks like it will be a White Christmas!_

_Also, long chapter, huh? I wonder if I'll get this done before Christmas. My other two stories are suffering because of it, because I'm working 12 hour days right now, with no days off until after Christmas. By the bye, I hate shoplifters. If any of you shoplift out there, or have ever thought about doing it, DON'T! Enough said._


	9. Chapter 9 Nine Ladies Dancing

**Part 9: Nine Ladies Dancing**

Hermione entered the fifth row of the balcony from the far left aisle long after the Minister of Magic had begun addressing the employees of the Ministry and the members of the Wizengamot at their annual fourth quarter meeting. Draco had saved her a seat on the aisle, near the wall. As she sat down, he looked at her concerned, because it appeared she had been crying.

He frowned, leaned toward her and whispered, "What's wrong?"

"Sh, be quiet," she whispered back. "The Minister's speaking."

"I don't bloody well care," he spouted. "What wrong?"

"Nothing," she whimpered. "I'm fine."

The other three members of her staff turned to look at her from their seats in front of them. Terry leaned back, his arm across Hannah's chair, and he said, "Why were you late? You almost missed the Minister's Christmas presentation."

She merely shook her head at Terry and then looked down at her lap. Terry looked over at Draco and said, "Find out what's wrong." He turned back toward the podium, where the Minister was droning on and on about something idiotic. Hannah turned to look at her quickly, too. She leaned over, touched Hermione's knee and smiled. Hermione turned her head to the wall, crossed her arms in front of her, and tried to hold back her tears.

The morning had started out good enough. Actually, it had started out very good indeed. Draco had brought Hermione bagels and coffee. When he handed them to her, he told her she looked like a dream… _'a dream dressed all in cream_,' he had told her, because she had on a cream-coloured, turtleneck, cashmere sweater dress. He couldn't remember the last time she looked so beautiful.

She held up one foot and asked him if he liked her shoes as well. He said they were 'fetching'. She told him they were her 'dancing shoes'. He laughed and told her that was good, because she would need them to wade through all the muck and shite that they would have to listen to during the fourth quarterly meeting of the Ministry of Magic.

She stood up, crossed behind him, and whispered, "I hope I get to do more dancing than that today."

Draco thought she was a crafty little witch, the way she was eluding to the 'Nine Ladies Dancing'. He also really did think she looked beautiful today. She looked pretty every day, but today she looked incredible. She looked so soft and inviting. He wanted to reach out, touch her, hold her and most of all, kiss her.

He had a very nice evening planned for them…very romantic. He had planned dinner and dancing, at a swanky Muggle dinner club. There was going to be only eight other couples there, and they would be the ninth. He knew that it had nothing to do with 'Nine Ladies Dancing' since the dancing would be done between men and women, but the evening _did involve_ dancing, so he thought it was going to be a successful 'Nine Ladies Dancing'.

He no longer cared to hide his identity as 'her true love' from the notes and gifts. She knew he was the gift giver and that she was 'his true love', and they both seemed fine with that fact. It made it easier, really. He wasn't sure how he would have interrupted 'Nine Ladies Dancing' if he had still had to hide his identity. Perhaps something with marionette puppets or something. Yes, tonight would be so much better than marionettes.

Therefore, overall, he was excited for this evening, and she had seemed excited this morning. All they had to do was to get through this annual quarterly meeting of all of the departments of the Ministry and the Wizengamot, which usually took two to three hours, and then they were free to start their evening.

On their way down to the auditorium a young messenger, who handed her a note, stopped her. She told her staff to go on without her, but to save her a seat. They went to their usual spot, upper left hand balcony, far side, near the wall, almost to the very back. There were only a handful of seats left. Draco told Boot, Abbot and Croxley to take three seats in one row, while he saved the two seats behind them for himself and Hermione.

Then he waited, and worried, while the meeting started and Hermione never appeared. He almost left twice to go look for her. Finally, partway into the Minister's final speech, she appeared.

Now here she sat, sniffling, her head turned toward the wall, and for all intents and purposes, terribly upset about something. God help the person who had upset Hermione Granger on the night Draco Malfoy had planned to take her out to dinner and dancing. And may the devil curse the person who made her cry on a day when she had looked so pretty.

He would not hassle her, or embarrass her, by demanding to know what was wrong right now. Instead, he would try to make her happy. It was the least he could do, besides he was slightly bored. He hated these meetings and the Minister was a boring chap and a bit of a loon as well. Draco placed his right arm across the back of her chair and let his thumb rub against her shoulder. Just a slight movement, to let her know that he was there, and that he cared. He moved it back and forth, back and forth.

She shifted slightly in her chair. Instead of shifting away from him, she turned slightly toward him. Then, in an act that shocked him, she turned completely toward him, scooted closer still, and placed her head on his shoulder. There were people all around them! Anyone might see them! Seriously, Draco was elated, but had she forgotten her hard fast rules about what she once called 'public displays of affection' while at work? It was something she used to harp at Weasley about every time he would try to kiss her cheek or pinch her bum while at work. She would yell at him and tell him that there was no room for 'public displays of affection' while at work, and that it was unprofessional! Then she usually called him an idiot.

Yet, she was not calling Draco an idiot, and she wasn't pushing him away, as she placed her head on his shoulder. He reached over with his free hand and picked up her hand, holding it firm. He pulled her closer, and whispered, "Shall we leave?"

She shook her head no.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Again, a no.

"Did someone die?" He found that a profound possibility.

Another no.

"Did you kill someone?" He actually found that one a possibility, too.

She looked up at him with a look of anger and confusion. He smiled. Then she smiled, too. Then she shook her head no again.

He whispered low, "Did someone kill you?" He was trying to make light of the situation, help her to smile. He said that one as a joke.

Imagine his shock when she slowly shook her head yes to that question. He didn't know what that meant. He didn't ask any other questions. He just continued to hold her lightly. He could hardly pull her into his arms, kiss her, and do all the things he really wanted to do to comfort her, as they were at work, with hundreds of other people around them.

Damn the person who hurt her straight to hell! Damn the person who ruined this day for them both. He turned his face slightly toward hers. She was looking down, her left hand still in his left hand, her right hand pulling at her cashmere sweater dress. He looked around to see if anyone was watching them. It was dark in the assembly. They were high in a balcony. They were in the third from the last row. No one was watching.

He kept his right hand on her back, but drew it downward slightly, to rest between her back and the hard back of the uncomfortable chair. He began to draw lazy circles and designs on her back.

She shivered. Was she cold, or was his touch having the same influence on her that it was having on him? Still holding her hand with his other, he leaned closer still and with her ear so close to his mouth that each word thereon, each syllable, felt like a whispered kiss, he said, "Guess the Christmas symbol I'm drawing on your back."

He rubbed his thumb back and forth on her back twice more before he took the index finger of the same hand and he began to draw a Christmas tree. He even topped it with a star. Merlin, he could feel the lace of her camisole under her sweater. When he was done, he leaned close again and said, "Well?"

"A tree," she said in a hushed tone.

With his lips on her ear he whispered, "One point for you." He felt as if he was melting by her mere presence. She smelled so good. She was warm. SHE WAS SOFT!

He leaned away, swallowed hard, and drew his hand off her shoulder again to bring his index finger back down her back. This time he made elaborate strokes, albeit small ministrations. His mouth at her ear when he finished, he asked, "What now, Granger? Can you guess?"

Her eyes closed, her head still down. Her breathing was somewhat erratic. She turned her face slightly toward his, and with her eyes still firmly shut, she sighed and on the cusp of that sigh came the answer, "A snowflake."

"You're good. So very, very good," he responded. The Minister of Magic was wrapping up his speech and was beginning to talk about the Christmas holidays. Draco looked around a bit, ascertained that no one was watching, and with the same naughty index finger he drew a line straight down from the collar of the turtleneck, where the material of her sweater began to roll, to the base of her spine, his finger following each notch of her spine exactly.

Then he splayed his hand out wide on the small of her back. His left hand was on her lap, holding her left hand, and she squeezed it hard. She opened her eyes and turned to look at him. He exhaled and said, "What was that?" He didn't even try to whisper that time.

She looked on the verge of tears again. She shook her head slightly, to show that she didn't know, or that she didn't care. She bit her bottom lip and said, "I don't know."

This time he closed his eyes. His hand stayed on her lower back, his thumb again moving back and forth. "Make a guess or I automatically win, Granger," he chided softly.

"A peppermint stick?" she asked.

He nodded. He turned his head forward when he heard Boot clear his throat. Terry looked his way and said, "It's over, Malfoy, Hermione. The Minister wished us all a Happy Christmas and said that we could start our Holiday early and leave."

Draco let go of her hand, removed it from her lap, but kept his other hand on her back. She leaned back in her seat, trapping it. Terry told them goodbye and wished them a nice holiday. So did Hannah and other one. Yet Hermione and Draco remained seated, where they were. When there were only a few stragglers here and there on the floor of the Wizengamot, Draco finally took her hand again, and brought his other hand back around her shoulder.

"What happened earlier?" he asked in a normal tone. "Why were you late?"

She tried to stand, but he grabbed the back of her dress and pulled her back to the chair. Fine, he could wait her out. She would tell him. He wouldn't let her leave until she did.

That was what he did. Soon, everyone left, and the room was thrown into darkness as the lights around the large arena began to extinguish. There were still a few lit sconces in the balcony, which were charmed to extinguish when everyone left that area, but since Draco and Hermione remained seated, the candles remained lit.

In his normal, haughty voice, Draco stood up, looked down at her and said, "Tell me what happened, or I'll hex your arse into next week, Granger." He drew his wand. He really didn't know what else to do. He wasn't good at being sensitive. This was him, and how he acted, and she knew that.

"Harry told Ron about you and me, and he assumes now that I broke up with him because I was seeing you on the side. He sent the note around, to see me before the meeting," she explained. She stood up and suddenly her sadness evaporated, replaced by anger.

"He accused me of being unfaithful to him! My stars, Malfoy, I've been in love with him since I was 12 years old! For 15 long years, I've loved him! In the beginning I waited years and years for him even to notice me, and then I waited longer still for him finally to admit he felt the same! I waited the longest time ever for him finally to make a commitment last year and consent to become engaged! How could he dare to question my loyalty and devotion to him?"

"But Granger, he has a point," Draco said slowly. She gave him an angry look and he added, "Well, think about it. Yes, we've not even really examined if we have anything yet, but you did say you broke up with him because of that bloody pear I gave you that first day. If you were so loyal and devoted to him, could a piece of fruit really break you up?"

She stood in front of him, mouth open, indignant to a fault, when suddenly, her shoulders sagged, and she sat back down. "You're right. I can't believe it. Draco Malfoy is right about something!"

"Repeat that, please, because I don't think I've ever heard Hermione Granger say that about me before," he requested.

She mumbled, "And you'll never hear it again." She frowned. "I broke up with him because of that damn pear."

"You gave up a fruit for a fruit," Draco joked. "Scoot over." She moved to the next seat and he sat beside her. "Why are you sad about it?"

"I guess I hate that I hurt him. I guess that I'm uncertain as to where you and I stand. I don't want to be alone for Christmas," she rambled. She rubbed one hand over her face.

"Scoot back out," he ordered as he stood.

She gave him a funny look, but then she moved from the seat and stood in the aisle beside him, next to the wall. He used his wand and with one swipe, all the chairs on the balcony moved to one side. He concentrated for a moment, closed one eye, and then flicked his wand, and the floor leveled from the stair-step balcony that it was, to a level 'dance floor'.

"You're good at transfiguration," she remarked.

"If that impresses you, then wait and see, missy," he responded.

With another swish of his wand, music began. "May I have this dance?" he asked. He took her hand and pulled her out toward the middle of the upper balcony. They began to dance. The sound of their feet on the raised floor the only sound they could hear above the music.

Holding her so close in his arms, he couldn't remember feeling more desperate his entire life. His passion and hunger for her could not forever go unconsummated. She had allowed him in, invited him to her, really, and now that he had her within his arms, and in his life, he knew he couldn't let her go.

It was a daunting feeling, at best. His hands were gliding her across the floor, one on her back, one holding her hand to his chest, and she was relaxed and almost buoyant in his arms. They seemed to float on air.

Her arms went up around his neck, to twine tightly there, her fingers playing lightly with the wisps of hair at his collar. His hand clasped low on her back. Her cheek went to his chest. His rested on her curls. It was so perfect.

At least it was until the song ended. Time stopped, suspended in an eerie sequence of events…she looked up at him, he down at her, and his mouth covered hers, and he felt instant exuberance and joy mingled with raw pain and desire. He deepened the kiss, his tongue leaving his mouth to move across her lips, then inside her mouth. She moaned and her tongued danced with his as surely as their bodies danced together only moments before.

Then she pushed him away. He felt hurt and pain, which resembled what she must have felt earlier. She threw her arms back around him and said, "Draco." That was all she said. Just his name. Just Draco.

She began to cry again. He hated it when women cried. He didn't understand half of the reasons why they did, or how it helped anything, or what they wanted men to do about it, but he held her and let her cry. When her tears were gone, she asked, "Will you take me home?"

Would he? He didn't want to take her dancing now. He didn't want to take her home either. He didn't know what he wanted, except that he knew he wanted her. Sure, she ruined his plans for 'Nine Ladies Dancing' or maybe he ruined it, or on further inspection, all blame could possibly, probably, be placed at the feet of Ron 'the vermin' Weasley, but none of that mattered. Today was still perfect, at least to him. He wondered if she knew how perfect it had ended.

He was about to apologize for the fact that the 'Ninth day of Christmas' was ruined when she placed her hands on his shoulders, stood with her breasts pressed against his chest, feet on tiptoes, and she said in his ear, in a whisper (as if anyone was still around to hear), "This was the best of all the days yet, Draco, my true love. Thank you for my Nine Ladies Dancing. I loved it."

Huh. She loved it. That meant she thought it was perfect, too.


	10. Chapter 10 Ten Lords a Leaping

**Part 10:** **Ten Lords a Leaping:**

"It's fifteen after five, Malfoy," Hermione said from her desk. "It's two days before Christmas. Everyone else has left already. Surely you have somewhere to go on December 23rd?"

Draco plopped his feet up on his desk, his arms behind his head and he said, "Trying to get rid of me?"

"Not at all," she said with a smile. She closed her notebook and placed her quill in its holder. "I merely thought you might have something to do, and since it's after five, I thought you would want to leave."

"No, I have nothing planned for this evening," he said. He gave her a cocky smile. Hermione Granger hadn't hinted even once today that she was waiting for her 'Ten Lord's A Leaping'. He knew that the suspense had to be killing her. Draco loved every minute of it. He played it cool all day long. He acted as if nothing happened between them last night…not the kiss, or the intimate moment before it, because she acted as if nothing happened. He decided two could play that game, so if she was going to ignore their incredible kiss, so was he. Still, she didn't act as if she was a woman waiting for a present, damn her.

They were the last two in their department, hell, they might be the last two people left in the Ministry, and the fact that he hadn't given her the tenth gift yet was driving HIM insane. She had to feel the same way. SHE SIMPLY HAD TO FEEL THE SAME WAY!

She stood up and said, "Okay then, well, I for one have a lot to do before my Christmas party on Thursday, so I think I'll go on home."

Okay…maybe the fact that he hadn't given her the tenth gift yet wasn't even important to her.

Putting on her outerwear she concluded, "I'll see you tomorrow, Christmas Eve you know, the last day before our break, and then of course, I'll see you at my party on Christmas day. Happy Christmas, Draco." She started toward the door.

What was she playing at?

Draco kept his feet on his desk, but regarded her with hooded eyes. She seemed to be walking very slowly. Now she was fumbling in her purse. Yep, she was stalling. She crossed back over to her desk, pretending that she forgot something…oh wait, she did forget something…she held up her wallet, which she had left on top of her desk, and said, "Bye, Draco."

She left, closing the door behind her.

Draco dropped his feet to the floor and stared at the door in shock. What? Didn't she care about her 'Ten Lord's a Leaping'? This was a hard one to think of, too, and here she didn't give two figs about it. She left without a care. Now that she knew he was the giver of the gifts, she should wait around for him to give her the damn things! First she didn't mention their kiss and now she didn't wait for her present. What was wrong with her?

And their kiss was incredible last night! He didn't imagine how insanely wonderful it was! It was a real, honest, to goodness, nice, open mouth, full tongue, knee buckling, and heart pounding, groin-tightening kiss! He knew that she felt the connection just as much as he did! Yet, she acted as if nothing happened this morning, played it cool, and all that, and now she left without a care in the world.

What a wanker.

He frowned and pulled out the package for the 'Ten Lords a Leaping'. To think, he spent more time on this gift than some of the others, and he even wrapped it with pretty paper this time. He could take it to her house, but she might not even have gone home. She said she had 'a lot to do'. Feeling totally defeated, and deflated, Draco left the package on her desk, (she could get it a day late) and he retrieved his coat from the hook near the door. Once wrapped up against the impending cold he opened the door to find Hermione Granger standing right outside, waiting for him.

"It took you long enough!" she accused. "You didn't even insist that I stay! You didn't even hint around that you had yet to give me my present, you didn't seem like it mattered to you if I left or stayed or anything! You didn't even mention that kiss from last night! I mean, did you like it? Did it mean anything to you? OH MY GOODNESS..." and then she gasped.

He was gobsmacked at her total lack of decorum! He felt so flustered by her barrage of words that he couldn't get a word in edgewise. He tried, he really did, especially when she asked if their kiss meant anything to him, but then she gasped and said, 'Oh my goodness,' as if something terrible had happened.

He took a step backwards, back into their now dark office, because her gasp took him off guard. She pushed on his chest, hard, sending him even further into the room. She slammed their door shut and she said, "It didn't mean anything to you, did it! You were appalled, or shocked, or disappointed, weren't you? That's why you've yet to mention it! That's why it's been business as usual today! That's why there's no more gifts forthcoming!"

He lifted his hands, in a defensive mode, in case she attacked, when she suddenly gasped again. At this rate, she was going to inhale so much air that she might burst.

With her gasp this time she said, "Oh no! This wasn't some elaborate joke was it? This wasn't some plot to get back at me for something I did to you when we were kids, was it?" She began to pace around their dark office. He felt in his pocket for his wand.

"I broke up with Ron for you! How could I have been so stupid! How could I have been so bloody blind! I really thought my feelings were reciprocated! I mean, I've liked you for so long, and I thought you were beginning to actually like me!" She sank down on the floor, hung her head and cried out, "I'm such a fool! I'm so embarrassed! I flirted with you! I told my mother I might be falling in love with you! Oh my stars, I'm an idiot."

Draco lowered his hands, very slowly, when it finally appeared that her verbal assault was at an end. She was still sitting on the cold floor of their office, only a meter from where he stood, and she had just accused him using her, of pretending to like her to get back at her for something she did as a child, for discovering that he found her revolting, and wait…did she say that she told her mum that she loved him?

He got down on one knee, and then down on the other. He threw his gloves on the floor, and then he threw off his hat and even his coat. He picked her up by her shoulders, bringing her to her knees. She stared at him in shock. He peeled off her gloves, hat and then her coat, and threw them with his own.

Then he placed his hands on her shoulders and he shook her. Really shook her. He shook her hard. "What did you say?" he almost shouted.

"You want me to repeat all of it, because I don't think I can remember every rant and rave I just said," she pouted. He saw a tear go down her cheek.

"You are a fool, Granger," he said. He knew he sounded gruffer than he meant to sound, but how could she be so insecure? He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He knew how. She was insecure because it was he. She was insecure because of every terrible, evil deed he had heaped upon her as they were growing up. She was insecure because he had spent the better part of their lives telling her that she was inferior to him, and that she was below him, he was above her, better than her.

She was insecure because HE was insecure. He pulled her into his arms, held her tighter than he had ever held another living being. "Tell me again the part about what you said that you said to your mum about me."

"What I said that I said to what?" she asked, confused. She wiped her cheeks with her hand as she pushed away from his chest to look at him.

"You said that you told your mum that you might be falling in love with me. Is that the truth?" he asked. He brought his hand up to her cheek. It was still wet from her tears. He had made her cry, yet again. He couldn't even count on one hand how many times he had made Hermione Granger cry during their lifetime. He had never regretted any of those times as much as this time. "Tell me that part of your mental breakdown again," he urged.

"I told my mother last night on the phone that I broke up with Ron." He took her hand, helped her to stand, led her to her desk, where he sat down, and he pulled her between his legs. He placed his arms around her waist. She said, "When Mum asked me why I broke up with him, I told her it was because I might have fallen in love with someone at work. She asked me who it was, and I told her that it was still new, so I didn't want to share the name with her yet."

"Because you were afraid it wasn't real," he confirmed. It wasn't a question. Everything she had just said to him, her whole 'explosion' confirmed that.

Nevertheless, she shook her head no. "No, not because I didn't think it was real, but because I didn't want to share it with anyone yet. I wanted to wait to confirm my feelings, and yours, on Christmas day, at my party. I still want to wait, except, maybe not. Draco, please, tell me, have you changed your mind about me?"

He closed his eyes again. He willed himself not to call her stupid. It didn't work. "You stupid, stupid girl!" She tried to back away. He held one arm with his hand and reached around to the top of her desk to grab her present. "HERE!" He shoved the package at her. "I was going to give this to you sometime today, but then every moment seemed like a terrible one, and when you never mentioned the kiss, I thought you changed your mind about me, and well, we're both stupid. Damn, these last two days haven't gone like I planned."

She sniffled and moved from between his legs to sit beside him on her desk. She fingered the lovely, silver wrapped present, with the purple ribbon and bow, and said, "How did you plan today to go?"

He knocked his shoulder into hers and said, "Okay, well, this morning you would come into the office, blush at the sight of me, make some little remarks, little innuendos about our shared passion, and all day long we would share longing looks, and perhaps little touches."

She reached over, touched his hand briefly, and asked, "Like that?"

"Well, less conspicuous, but yes." He stood, walked around her, pretended to drop something, and when he stood, he reached over for her leg to steady himself. "Like that," he suggested. He placed a hand beside each of hip and leaned toward her. "We would smile at each other, knowingly, and I would wink at you a couple of times, and then you would send everyone home early, and when you least expected it, I would give you your present." He placed his nose along her jaw, moved it from her cheek to her chin, and then moved away.

"Okay, here's the flaw in your scenario," she said. "YOU DIDN'T DO ANY OF THOSE THINGS! I did send everyone home early, yet you did nothing! I walked back and forth behind your desk like a hundred times today, and I touched your shoulder twice! I even pretended you had a string on your sleeve just to touch your arm! I smiled at you! I don't know if it was knowingly, because I'm not show what a knowingly smile looks like, but still, you didn't smile knowingly back at me once." She poked him in the chest.

"You didn't wink at me!" she accused.

She poked his chest again.

"You didn't touch me back!" she shouted.

She pushed him completely away from her and she jumped off her desk.

"And I sent everyone home hours ago, and you sat at your desk, working, and you didn't say a single word to me, and you didn't give me my present! Maybe I didn't act like you expected me to act after our little interlude, but you didn't do any of the things you just said you expected, either. Let's face it, this is new territory for us. We're used to hating each other, not…," she stopped, hesitated. He wondered if she was going to say the word, 'loving'? Instead, she said, "Not liking each other."

"Blast it all, when you're right, you're right, Granger," he sighed. He took a step closer to her and pushed her back toward her desk. Her bum hit it hard, as he was now poking her in her chest. "But you know, you're supposed to be the smart one, old girl," he said, (poke, poke) "You should know after nine bloody days of gifts that I want to be with you." (Poke harder)

"If I didn't read your signs today, then you should have hit me over the head with something really hard, that would have gotten my attention." He poked her chest again, but this time, he kept his finger right in the middle of her chest.

"That last poke hurt, Malfoy."

"Really? Sorry." He removed his finger, placed his hands on her shoulders, pulled her closer, and leaned his head down to kiss her jaw. "Does that make it feel better?" he murmured against her skin.

"Not really," she said. His arms went around her and he kissed down her neck. He moved the collar of her shirt to the side, to kiss her collarbone. He could see the strap of her bra. It was red, just like her blouse. Interesting. She grasped his shoulders, tightly.

"Does that help it feel better?" he asked. He gazed up at her. Her eyes were closed. She shook her head no.

He placed an open palm on her chest. Her heart was beating wildly. THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, like the rhythm of a drum. His hands moved slowly to her the front of her blouse. Now she opened her eyes. He unbuttoned two buttons, the top two were already unbuttoned, and so he unbuttoned numbers three and four. His thumbs moved the silky material of the red blouse aside, and in an act of brazen daring, (or pure lunacy) he leaned down and kissed her cleavage, between her breasts, where the tops of her breasts began to rise, over her heart. He did it slowly, languidly, a tepid but meaningful kiss. He brought his head up, looked in her eyes, and said, "There, I kissed the place I poked. Does it feel better now?"

She looked as if she couldn't speak. Draco didn't want her to speak. He wanted her to fist her hands in his hair, throw her legs around his waist, and ravish his mouth with hers. Instead, as he waited for her answer, he reached around her for her present. His chest rubbed against hers. He wondered if that was a subtle enough 'little touch' for her?

He leaned back and handed the present to her, still waiting for her answer. "Well?" he asked.

"It's much better, thanks," she said softly. He reached up and stroked her face, then pulled on her hair slightly. He moved her hair away from her shoulder, and then let it fall back into place. He remained close as she fumbled with the purple ribbon that was around the package. He helped her.

He threw the ribbon over his shoulder. She removed the paper and held up a black bound journal. She moved it around her fingers, from hand to hand, and then looked up at him, questioning.

"Inside, are my ten favourite Lord Byron poems. It's the best I could do for 'Ten Lords a Leaping'," he explained. She immediately smiled.

"You like Lord Byron? I would have thought you more a Lord Tennyson fan," she remarked. She opened the soft, leather bound book and hand written, in a calligraphy style font, were ten Lord Byron poems. His head was close to hers as she perused the pages.

"The one I especially associate with you is written last. Shall I tell it to you?" he asked.

She nodded.

He took the small volume from her hand, placed it on the desk, and then kept her hands in his. He pulled her to stand from the desk and he began to quote his favourite Lord Byron poem. He said:

"She walks in beauty, like the night,

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

When he was done quoting She Walks in Beauty, he leaned toward her and chastely kissed her cheek. "When I was younger, I read that poem, and even though there was never any love loss between you and I back then, for some reason, I immediately thought of you."

She threw her arms around him. She kissed his cheek and said, "Thank you so much, Draco. This was the best present yet. I keep saying that, but each day, I mean it more and more."

He held her. His arms tight around her, his nose in her hair, he smiled as he held her tightly. He loved her. Perhaps he had for a long time. Perhaps he fell in love with her the day he read that poem, when he was eighteen years old. Perhaps he just fell in love this moment. It didn't matter. He really loved her.

He pushed away from her and said, "I won't torture you over tomorrow's present, I promise."

"I'm sure you probably will, but that's okay, I'll know that just means that you like me," she said, smiling. Yes, he LIKED her, all right. She turned quickly, picked up the book and said, "I want to read the rest."

"Aren't you familiar with his work?" Draco asked.

"Oh yes, he's one of my favourite poets, too," she said. Still, she moved to sit down in her desk chair, started at the beginning, and read aloud each poem. He moved back over to his chair and listened.

When she was done, she closed the book, and said, "It's getting late, and I really do have a lot to do tonight. I'll see you tomorrow, Draco." She stood up, picked up her things, but unlike earlier, when she left without much ado, she stopped by his chair, placed a hand on his shoulder, kissed his lips briefly, and then whispered in his ear, "I think I do love you." She almost ran from the room.

He placed his feet back up on his desk, his hands behind his head, and he smiled. As already stated: he loved her, too.


	11. Chapter 11 Eleven Pipers Piping

**Part 11: Eleven Pipers Piping**

Walking down a city sidewalk, in an old part of town, close to ten o'clock at night, Draco held tightly onto Hermione's hand. He felt elated. He felt joy. He also felt slightly afraid of his choice for 'Eleven Pipers Piping' but it was too late to change his mind now. He looked over at her and she looked cold. He let her hand drop from his and he draped an arm around her shoulders. It felt right, natural, and wonderful.

"Where are we going, again?" she asked.

"I didn't tell you," he reminded her. He shook his head and laughed. She was a tricky little thing. She would forever keep him on his toes, and he planned on staying with her forever, too. She didn't know it yet, but he did.

They approached their destination, turning a corner at the end of a block and then crossing a busy city street. She looked up and stopped walking. "We're going in there?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered. Why did that shock her so much? Okay, he knew why that shocked her. It shocked him. He had never been in such a place before. Maybe this was sheer madness. They had time to turn back. He could still plan something else for day eleven, although day eleven was ending. "We don't have to go in there, if you don't want to," he prompted. Perhaps she would save them both the embarrassment and chicken out. Wait. Whom was he kidding? She was a former, bloody Gryffindor…brave and all that shite. She wouldn't chicken out.

She smiled, and started up the steps, his hand firmly clasped in hers. She said, "I hope they have lots of Christmas music. I love Christmas music."

They made their way inside the massive building and found a seat near the back. So far, so good…the roof hadn't collapsed, the building hadn't caved in, fire and brimstone wasn't being rained down upon them, he hadn't yet been turned into a pillar of salt. She accepted a candle from a young boy in a robe and passed it to him, and then took one for herself. She picked up a book. He took it from her hand and placed it back in the pew in front of them.

"You won't have time to read, Granger," he said.

She laughed and said, "It's the hymnal, Malfoy."

He didn't know what a hymnal was, but he looked at her sheepishly and said, "Oh, okay, then you can read it before the music starts."

She gave him a strange look and placed the book back on her lap. He didn't know what that look meant, but he felt as if he might have said something stupid. She looked all around the massive church. He did as well. He leaned over and said, "This place reminds me a bit of Hogwarts. I've never been in one of these places before."

She smiled at him and said, "You don't say." He could tell she was being sarcastic. "Why did you tell me to dress for a funeral?" she asked.

"Because I figured once we set foot over the threshold, either my mother or father one would keel over dead," he joked, "and this way, we would be dressed for church and then later for the funeral."

"Why are we here?" she asked in low tones.

He nodded toward the front. She looked toward his nod and then smiled in acknowledgement. In the front of the old, grand cathedral was a massive pipe organ. Its pipes and console took up the entire front of the church, and was part of the intricate structural design of the building. The case was designed to complement the building's architectural style and contained many ornamental carvings and other decorations, of which the visible portion of the case, or the façade, contained the pipes, made of a burnished, gilded white golden hue.

"It's beautiful," she remarked.

"It's your eleven pipers piping," he interjected. "I know you like Christmas music, and I guess this little church is having a Christmas Eve music service tonight. It's an Anglican church, whatever that means. I hope that's okay. I don't know what that means exactly, but I know each church is different. I didn't think to ask you what you are. They won't throw you out if you aren't Anglican, will they?"

She started to laugh, but then realized he was serious. "Malfoy, you've been in a church before, really, haven't you?"

"Heavens, no," he said.

She laughed again, repeated his phrase, "_Heavens_ no?" and then asked, "Never?"

"Why would I have ever been in a church?" he asked her back. She shrugged. He continued, "I mean, I'm not a Christian, you know."

"Oh, that much I know," she said with another smile.

"Ha," he said dryly. "Seriously, will they be able to tell? They won't try to convert me, will they? They don't still burn our type at the stake, do they?"

"Not for several hundred years, Malfoy," she said. She was still smiling. He was happy that she was happy. She opened that same purple book, the one she called a hymnal, and she placed a small scrap of paper between two pages. He knocked his arm into hers, to ask her what she was doing. "I'm marking the place for the first song. It's my favourite Christmas hymn. It's called 'The First Noel'. When I was little I was in the Christmas pageant at our church, and I was Mary, and I got to sing the first verse by myself."

He shook his head, then leaned over toward her and asked, "Who's Mary?"

She laughed. He frowned. "You can't be serious!" she whispered. "Mary, mother of God, you must know, Jesus' mother." She shook her head.

He laughed. "I was joking with you. I may not be a Christian, but I'm not a moron. I'm not Ron Weasley, you know, and I do know who Jesus was. He was an okay chap." He opened his hymnal and marked the first selection as well.

"An okay chap?" she asked, one eyebrow raised. "What are you? Are you agnostic? Atheist? Pagan? Satanist?" She laughed after she said that last one.

"I'm a Wizard," he said, seriously. "What's your problem?"

"Just because you're a Wizard doesn't mean you can't have faith in a higher power, Malfoy," she answered.

"Please," he answered. "You're an intelligent human being, and you know magic exists, so how can you tell me you really believe in all of this hullabaloo?" He motioned around the church with his hand.

"How can you not believe, especially as you are a Wizard, and you do know that magic exist?" she asked. "The very fact that we are magical makes me believe even more. The base of Christianity is faith. Faith in believing in what you can't see, but what you know in your heart it true. It's the same with magic. Just because I believe in Magic doesn't mean I can't believe in God. Maybe God made magic. Maybe God made many, many things, and many of them I don't understand how they work, or why they are, but that doesn't mean they aren't real, that they don't exist, and that I don't believe in them."

"But, Granger, take your beloved Christmas, for instance," he lectured. "It has nothing to do with the man Jesus, or his birth. Did you know that the origins of the Christmas tree actually predate Christ and Christianity by thousands of years? The tree finds its beginning during the time of the Druids, who was a society, by the way,made up of sorcerers. During the time of the Druid winter solstice, which was in December, the Druid priests would decorate outdoor trees with apples and candles to show appreciation to their god. Christians adopted this practice, some saying that to Christians the tree represent the Cross and the decorating of the fir trees with apples represents Adam and Eve's fall from grace."

Hermione stared at him for a long time before she spoke. "First, you're beginning to sound like me. Do I sound like that when I drone on and on, trying to sound smarter than everyone else?"

"Yes, yes, you really do," he said seriously. He crossed his legs, and began to thumb his way through his hymnal.

She reached over and closed his book. "Listen, Draco, that doesn't mean a thing. Besides, nowhere in the Bible does it say that as Christians we should celebrate Jesus' birth anyway, so there's no clear cut rule on how we should celebrate it, either. We're meant to commemorate his death and resurrection, hence the reason we know the exact date of these things.

"Jesus probably wasn't even born in December. He was probably born in September, after all, shepherds wouldn't have had their flocks in the fields in December, and the census, which was being taken at the time of his birth, wouldn't have happened in the winter, but in the fall. Nevertheless, we celebrate his birth in December because the Romans celebrated the winter solstice on December 21, and so what if many of the pagan celebrations were later converted to Christian celebrations? It was done because the traditions were already so deeply ingrained. By decorating their homes as the early Romans did, the early Christians could avoid detection and thereby, avoid persecution, and yet celebrate their new religion. That doesn't mean anything. Wreaths, mistletoe, greenery, all of that have roots in the druid culture, too, but we use them as symbols for Christmas. Symbolism means nothing. It's what's in our hearts and heads that's important."

"See, I didn't go into that much detail," he told her. "However, well said, Granger, and you always have to one up me, don't you? You have to show you know just a bit more than the average person," he mocked. She actually blushed. He leaned over, church be damned, and kissed her cheek.

"Listen," he continued. "I love you in spite of the fact that you're a Christian, okay?"

She glared at him. "And I love you in spite of the fact that you're a crazy man, Malfoy, now be quiet, the first song is starting." Everyone stood. Hermione did as well. Draco didn't know why they had to stand to sing, but he stood, too. He didn't want to single himself out. If they found out he wasn't one of them, there was no telling what they might do to him.

He found that he enjoyed the service. He liked the music. He liked the organ. He loved the way Hermione sang out so loud and clear and with such a pretty voice. He also loved the way she held his hand during most of the service, and the way she looked so pretty in the hushed lighting of the glow of her candle.

When the service was over, he leaned toward her, blew out her candle, which was dripping wax everywhere, and then he blew out his own. Everyone was beginning to stand to leave. People, complete strangers, were turning to each other to wish each other 'Happy Christmas' and felicitations. He found himself doing the same. Strange.

They remained in their seats long after everyone began to leave. She looked at her watch and said, "Hey, Malfoy, it's almost Christmas."

He looked at his own watch. Indeed, it was 11:44 pm. Tomorrow was Christmas day, and she would have her party in the evening, and he was going to ask her to marry him. He just now decided. Originally, he was going to reveal that he was the 'gift giver' on Christmas day, but then she figured that out, probably on day one. Then, he was merely going to try to kiss her on Christmas day, but then he did that on day four, at her house. After that, his goal was to tell her that he wanted her to be his, but that kind of happened around day six or seven. Next, he figured he would tell her that he loved her on Christmas, since everything else had already taken place. Nonetheless, he professed his love to her, and she declared her love in return just last night. What was left?

She rested her head on his shoulder, her hand in his, her eyes closed. The organist was still playing. Hermione was quietly humming along with the music. He took a moment to really look at her. He wanted her so much. He could make that his short term goal…he could make love to her on Christmas day, but seriously, why settle for that? He wanted her mind, body and soul. He wanted to consume her completely. He wanted her forever. He never wanted to let her go. He wanted to marry her, and he would ask her tomorrow at her Christmas party. He would try to work 'Twelve Drummers Drumming' in there, somehow.

"Are you ready to go, Sweetheart?" he asked. He stood, and pulled her to stand. He ushered her out of the pew, and down the aisle, toward the back of the sanctuary. She followed without complaint. She also didn't comment on his use of an 'endearment'. He decided to try out different monikers for her. He liked 'sweetheart'. He wondered if she would protest.

"A moment longer, please," she begged. "Just until this song is over. I love 'Oh, Holy Night'." She turned, faced him, and then leaned her body toward his, her arms around his waist, in a loving embrace. He placed his arms on top of hers. "Draco, don't think I'm crazy, but I swear, this is a holy night for me. It is."

He knew just what she meant. Everything was perfect. Her body belonged next to his. His body thrummed with want for this woman. He felt alive and full of desire and electricity. He wondered if God minded that he had these types of thoughts in God's house? He looked up at the ceiling. There was a large, oval, stained-glass, domed window covering the entire ceiling. There was a picture of a man, whom Draco assumed was an angel. Draco winked at the man. If there was a God, Draco didn't think he minded.

He brushed his hands down her back, and through her hair. He said, "I can't wait for your party tomorrow night, Hermione. I have something very important to ask you."

"The answer will be yes," she said. She took his hand and led him out of the church. They walked back down the sidewalk. He looked at his watch. It was after midnight. It was Christmas day, and she said yes. She was right...it was a 'Holy Night', and maybe he did believe, after all.


	12. Chapter 12 Twelve Drummers Drumming

**Part 12: Twelve Drummers Drumming – Christmas Day- The End**

Something was terrible wrong.

As soon as Draco arrived at her back garden, he knew immediately that something was off, wrong, not quite right. All of her guests were instructed to apparated to her back garden, where none of her Muggle neighbours would see. He did as instructed, looked up at her house, and though it almost glowed in the evening sky, from the numerous outside lights and decorations, he knew something was amiss.

Instead of smiling at the memory of helping her decorate the outside of her house, over a week ago, he frowned, and realized that her house was unusually quiet. He was a half an hour late from the appointed starting time of her party, as it was to start at seven, and it was now seven-thirty. Though the outside glowed with red, green, yellow and blue lights, the inside was dark. He could see into her kitchen window and there was not a single light on in the kitchen.

He felt anxious and scared. Throwing opened the gate, he ran around on the paved sidewalk, around the side of the house, still staring into windows, on both the lower and the upper floors. The entire house was dark inside.

He bounded upon the porch and tried to open the front door, fear prompting his boldness at ignoring her privacy. The door was locked. He pounded and pounded on the door.

"HERMIONE! Open the door!" He wondered if he could apparate inside. Did she have wards set? He was about to try, when the door slowly opened, as if, dare he say, by magic.

The door creaked open, on its own, slowly. The foyer was as dark as the rest of the inside of the house. He pulled out his wand and with hesitation, he entered the living room to the left, but not before he glanced quickly down the hall and up the stairs.

In front of the large window, in the living room, was her tree. It twinkled with lights. Lights of which were the only source of illumination for the entire room. It was decked out with magnificent, beautiful ornaments, as well as fairy lights and real candles. He looked at her mantle. There was greenery hanging over the fireplace. There were two stockings…one with her name and one with his. He slowly lowered his wand.

He noticed that each of the presents from the twelve days of Christmas, or mementos of the presents that he had given to her, (a program from the Christmas Eve service last night, a cup from the hot chocolate, etc.) were propped upon the top of the mantle. He reached out and touched a few of them before he slowly turned around. Christmas music was now playing from somewhere in the house.

He walked through the pocket doors into her dining room. The table was set for two, and only for two. Here, the only light in the room came from a candelabrum, which was between two place settings, each covered by a silver dome. He lifted one. There was food on the plate. Roast beef, carrots, red potatoes, squash, and asparagus. He hated asparagus. He replaced the dome.

"Hermione?" he called out again. He walked through a swinging door and entered her large, comfortable kitchen. This room was completely dark, and empty as well, except for a small yellow striped kitten sleeping in a basket by an old wood-burning stove that sat in the corner.

He moved over to the cat, squatted down, scratched its ears and said, "Where's Granger, cat?" When the cat didn't answer, he stood, walked through another door which took him back to the hallway, and then back to the foyer.

He looked up the stairs. He used his wand, closed, and locked the front door before he removed his coat, hat, and gloves. He threw them on the floor in the foyer. Something told him he wouldn't need them. Something, be it instinct, or whatever, also told him that there was also no more reason to fear. She wasn't in any danger, and neither was he.

He practically flew up the stairs, two at a time. He already knew that the first room on the right, the one over the foyer, with the turret, was her room. He opened that door first.

She was sitting on the bed, on the side away from the door, her back to him. He was slightly worried again. He would call her name, but only one more time. After that, he would officially become unhinged.

"Hermione?"

"Come over here, Draco."

Draco walked over to the other side of the bed. The only light in this room came from the lights outside the windows, where the opened curtains allowed the twinkling Christmas lights to dance across her hardwood floor and walls. He found himself standing in front of her. She looked up at him, and then stood. She grasped his hands and smiled.

"Where are all the other guests?" he asked, though he didn't regret the fact that they were alone.

"Everyone sent their warmest regards, but they couldn't attend," she said with a smile, "especially after I sent out Owls to all of them canceling the party tonight, stating that I had an important rendezvous to attend."

He smirked and said, "Where was my Owl?"

"Oh, didn't you get your Owl?" She released his hands and said, "If you didn't get one, then that must mean that my important rendezvous was with you. Aren't you important?" She flipped his red tie with her fingers. She took a step back and said, "My, you look so very handsome tonight, Draco Malfoy."

His eyes perused her figure as well. She had on a emerald green dress, cut low, v-neck, sleeveless, tight at the waist, flared at the hips. "You look beyond compare, Granger," he commented. His mouth suddenly felt dry, while his hands felt sweaty.

She turned, lifted up a corner of a pillow on her bed, and she handed him a small present, wrapped in silver paper, tied with a white bow. "Happy Christmas, Draco. I hope you like it. I didn't know what you wanted, as you didn't tell me."

He knew what he wanted for Christmas. He wanted the very thing that he had wanted from the start: her. He slowly tore off the paper and the bow, placed the top of the box on the floor with the rest of the trappings, and peered inside the box. He lifted the ornament that rested inside the box. It was clear glass, etched with writing on the outside. It had their names, and the date, today's date, December 25th. He held it up toward the window, which was still afforded the only light into the room. "This is pretty."

"It's our first ornament together, and it commemorates the anniversary of the date we became engaged," she explained.

He smirked again, placed it back in the velvet box from which it came, turned, placed it on her dresser, and said, "Does it now?"

"It does, if you'll answer one question," she said in return. "Will you marry me, Draco?"

"You stole my line," he said, a smile on his face.

She shrugged. "Why should men have all the fun? I've always wanted to propose to someone, so it might as well be you."

"Funny, Granger," he said, pushing her shoulder slightly. "What if I say no?"

"After I already said yes last night to you?" she asked. She shook her head, said, "Tsk, tsk, Malfoy that would be mighty bad form. That would make you a rude little bugger, wouldn't it?"

"I've been called worse," he responded seriously. He reached in his pocket and threw something at her. She caught it, but then it still slipped between her fingers, and landed on the floor.

He bent to pick it up, as did she. He let her grab it first. She lowered herself to her knees, to kneel upon a rug by her bed. He followed suite, and knelt beside her. She opened the black velvet box. Inside was a very nice, very large, teardrop shaped, diamond ring. She looked from the ring to him, raised both eyebrows, then took the ring from its safe little home and held it up to the light coming in from the window.

"Is it real?" she asked.

"Are you real?" he asked back. "Of course it's real. Don't insult the ring, Granger." He took the ring from her and then took her hand. Before he placed it on her finger, he paused. "Wait, since you just asked me to marry you, I think I should get a ring. Where's my due? Give me a ring." In a moment of fun, he placed the ring he had given her back in his pocket and held out his hand, palm side up, and waited.

"I have something better," she said. "Close your eyes." To make sure that he did, she placed a soft hand over his eyes. After ascertaining that his eyes were closed, she removed her hand, scrambled to her feet, and moved away from him. He could hear the rustling of her dress, and the heels of her shoes clicking across the wooden floor. She came back to him, took his hand, and said, "Keep your eyes closed." She helped him to stand and then she moved him so that the back of his legs bumped against the back of her bed. He fell backwards, and sat down hard.

She placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "Open your eyes."

He did.

There were now large bows and ribbons across the middle of her dress, wrapped around her waist like a belt, and crossing over her breasts, too, like a sash. They were red, and the contrast against the emerald green of her dress made her look like the best Christmas present he had ever received.

"For me?" he asked, somewhat nervously. She nodded. "Gee, it's just want I wanted," he remarked slyly.

She removed his jacket, her hands coming to his shoulders, and moving the material slowly down his arms. She placed it on a chair by the bed. She removed his necktie next, slowly, but with shaking fingers. He knew she was acting with false bravado, and he loved her even more for it.

"What are you doing, Hermione?" he asked. He took her hands, stilled them, and kissed first one, then the other.

She cleared her throat and said, "Seducing you."

"I'd marry you without the seduction, though it's appreciated," he said with a smile. He stood up and said, "How about this? Let me seduce you instead, because I really want to unwrap my present." He reached back in his trouser pocket for the ring and placed it on her fourth finger. He held her hand up to his mouth, kissed her open palm, and sighed.

"You know," he began, "when all this began, all I really wanted for Christmas was you, but now I think I want more."

She blinked slowly, bit her bottom lip, and asked, "What do you want now?"

"I want you to want me, too," he said. He leaned his forehead against hers. "That's all I really want now, because I already want you, so now, I need to know, do you really want me, too?"

"More than anything," she answered. She threw her arms around his shoulders and kissed the side of his neck. He lifted her slightly, her feet off the floor, and he held her tight.

She lifted her head from his shoulder and asked, "Hey, I just realized something, where's my 'Twelve Drummers Drumming'? I've waited twelve days for this last gift, and I think I deserve it. You apparently got what you wanted for Christmas, so I want what I want."

He placed her feet back on the ground and with an air of annoyance, which was all for show, said, "I gave you a bloody ring, what more do you want?" However, he placed her hand, with the large rock, on his chest. He said, "Do you feel the beat of my heart? Do you feel how hard it's beating? Do you feel the steady thumping, like the beat of a drum?"

"Ah, I get it, your heart is my last gift?" she asked. Hermione placed her other hand on his heart as well.

"A bit sugary and sweet, perhaps sappy even, but that really was my plan for your present. My heart, presented to you, beating every beat, like the beat of a drum, and beating only for you." He took both her hands in his and jokingly said, "Please don't cut it out and place it on the mantle with the other gifts. That would be cruel."

"And morbid," she agreed. "I promise to never take out your heart. It will stay forever in your chest, and I'll never hurt it in any way, shape or form. I promise." She took his hand again and led him once more to the bed. They kissed tentatively, slowly at first, their hands moving smoothly, slowly, across the valley and planes of each other's bodies.

Soon, they were on top of her bed, their arms and legs intertwined, his shirt unbuttoned, her dress unzipped, desired creeping slowly upon them just as the cold and the snow began to fall slowly down outside.

Their fingers, lips, tongues, arms, legs, played a timeless game, doing things that felt nice, and doing things that felt a bit naughty.

His mouth moved across hers, down her neck, over her chest, pulling the soft material of her dress down in its wake. She matched every move he made, and he appreciated the effort she gave. Everything was right and as it should be. It was more than he expected and more than he felt he deserved. It was also over before he expected it to be. Afterward, they held each other, under her covers, still in the darkness of her room, with their clothing strewn all around.

He couldn't believe everything turned out right. He knew he had worked hard enough for it, but hard work didn't always equal just and right. He was triumphant, however, and that was all that mattered. He wanted her for Christmas, and for always, and forever, and here she was, in his arms.

Life was sweet and for the first time he finally knew what joy felt like. He listened to her steady breathing and concluded that she was sleeping. He thought of that Muggle Christmas carol, one in which they heard last night at that church, something along the lines of 'comfort and joy' and he knew that with her, right now, he felt comfort and joy. He reached over, stroked her face, his fingers softly on her cheek. He pulled her close, said, "Wake up, Hermione." When she opened her eyes, he kissed her on her mouth, and he feared he was melting…yes, he was just like the snow that swirled around outside, because he was so cold, for so long, and she was the sun, so bright, that she was surely melting him with her warmth.

"Hermione, before you go to sleep, may I tell you what I really want for Christmas?" he asked. He played with her fingers, moving them around his, pulling on them, and then bringing them to his lips.

"Yes, although I would think that you would have really wanted this, right here, right now, or maybe for us to agree to marry, no matter who asked." She got up on her side, and said, "Wait, you did say yes when I asked you to marry me, didn't you."

"Yes, yes, don't worry about that right now," he said, with fake irritation. He pushed her to her back, placed his hand over her heart, and said, "This whole thing, the gifts, everything, started because I had one simple thing that I wanted for Christmas, and I still want it, only now, I want it every day of my life. All I wanted for Christmas, Hermione Granger, was you, and now that I have you, I have to say, I'm never letting you go. Can you handle that?"

She had the gall to laugh at him. He tried to sit up on the bed, but she pushed him back down, placed her head on his chest, and said, "I'm the one that really got what she wanted for Christmas, Malfoy, you crazy man. This wouldn't have been so easy for you if I hadn't wanted you, too, you know."

Fine, he would let her think that, but he knew, in his heart of hearts that he was the one who really got what he wanted for Christmas, because he got her.

Merry Christmas, and the End


	13. Chapter 13 New Year's Eve

**New Year's Eve - Epilogue**

Hermione took one last, deep breath in and then let it out slowly. Everything had to be perfect. He had made Christmas perfect for her, so she wanted to make New Year's Eve perfect for him, in every, conceivable way. He had mentioned, more than two weeks ago, when all of this had started, and he had read that article about Theo and Pansy marrying on New Year's Eve that he had always wanted to get married on New Year's Eve, and perhaps that was merely a ploy to gain her sympathy, or perhaps it was truly his fondest wish. It didn't matter. She took him at his word, so tonight, on New Year's Eve, they were getting married, in the same Anglican Cathedral where they had spent their 'eleven pipers piping' date.

Now, if he would only arrive to the church on time.

All of their other dates...ice skating, pear eating, poetry reading, were played by his rules, under his command, orchestrated by him, even from his point of view, more or less. This was her gift to him, and she thought it was fitting. First, it wasn't expected, which would make it sweet. Also, Christmas was over, and as far as he was concerned, theirs was a nice little Christmas romance, which had blossomed into something more, and even though he had given her a ring, and he must fully intend to marry her someday, she knew in her heart of hearts he would never suspect something so soon, or so novel, from her.

She checked her watch again. It was nearly 11:17 pm. She smiled at the officiate. Then she waved to Terry Boot, Hannah Abbott and Dennis Creevey, who were to be their only witnesses. Draco was instructed to meet all of them here at 11:15, so truly, two minutes past was practically early for Draco Malfoy. Still, she was slightly worried.

She leaned toward the front pew and asked Terry, "You did give him the message, right?"

Terry nodded as he leaned forward, saying, "I told him you, Hannah and I were working really late to make sure that new Muggle amendment bill got to the Minister's desk before the New Year, but that we would meet him right outside this church at 11:15, to go to the pub around the corner to ring in the new year."

Dennis offered, "And then I told Mr. Malfoy that if it was especially cold, which it is, we would probably wait for him inside. He really should be here by now."

Hermione wanted to thank Dennis for stating the obvious, but instead she tried to smile, nodded, and said, "Okay, okay, that's great, that's fine." She looked at her watch. It was now 11:23. What if he didn't show? Perhaps, being as devious as he was, he had found out her plot, and he had decided that while he wanted to date her, even become engaged to her, that it was just too soon to marry.

Nerves still winning the war over being rational, she leaned toward Hannah and said, "And you got the license, right? The Registrar's office gave it to you, with no problem?"

"It's right here," Hannah said, holding up her purse.

Hermione looked at her watch again, even as she said aloud, "What time is it?"

The officiate answered, "It's 11:27, Miss Granger. I'm sure he'll be here."

Hermione shook her head. "No, I don't think so. He doesn't really want to marry me. This was all about the challenge, the chase, perhaps it was even a wager he had with someone, that he could get me to fall in love with him in twelve days or less. He's not coming." She began to pace, hitting her bouquet of roses in her opposite hand as she thought aloud..."Or perhaps, he wants to continue to be in control of the whole thing. He probably found out about this, and since he's under the impression that he's been in control all along, although I have refutable arguments against that claim, because I know I was in control of several of our dates, but still, since he didn't plan this one, he's not showing up."

She looked at Dennis and said, "You probably spilled the beans, didn't you Crumbly?"

"My name's Creevey," Dennis said, shocked. "And I didn't tell him anything, except what you told me to tell him."

"Calm down, Granger," Terry said. "Let me go find him, okay?" Terry stood, but Hermione sat down and said, "No."

The four co-workers sat at the front of the church for sixteen more minutes, not saying a word, all four checking their watches continually. Soon, it was fifteen before twelve. It was almost New Year's Eve. The officiate finally said, "Miss Granger, we really only have the church until right after midnight. What do you want to do?"

"I'm slightly worried for the prat, now, because I seriously don't think he would stand me up, but that would mean that he's been in an accident or something, and I would hate to think it's something like that keeping him from me, but damn it, Malfoy, you had better have been in a bloody, bad accident!" She stood and said, "I suppose we should all go. Reverend, would you like to join my friends and I at a pub to ring in New Years, since there won't be a wedding?"

A voice from the back of the church rang out, "Who says there won't be a wedding, and way to go, Granger, wishing impending harm and doom on your nearly, newly beloved husband to be."

She turned to face him. He started walking toward her, hands raised in a defensive mode, which he knew was appropriate when dealing with an angry Hermione Granger. "Before you say another word you might regret, or do something I might regret, I have a confession to make."

"What?" she asked, with a smile, walking toward him. "By the way, you look handsome in your tuxedo. Hey, wait a minute, why are you in tuxedo? You shouldn't be in a tuxedo? You weren't supposed to know about this! I have a tux for you to change into, but you shouldn't have it on yet."

He smiled back and answered, "I thought since you would be in a wedding dress that I should wear a tux, and here's my confession, I did find out about your little scheme, even though it was a bloody, good scheme, and you really, really did hide it well."

Hermione turned and yelled, "DENNIS!"

"Crosby didn't tell me," Draco admitted. "I merely ascertained pieces of information over the last week, and I deduced it all. It's terribly sweet of you, especially as I told you that I always wanted to get married on New Year's Eve, even though I really just said that, that day because I wanted your sympathy."

She walked up to him, placed a hand in his, and answered, "I knew it! If you knew about this, why were you late? Why make me suffer and worry? That's not very gallant or kind even, Draco."

He kissed her knuckles and said, "Oh, I don't know if you'll still say that when you see why I was late. My wedding present for you took a bit longer to get together than I thought it would." He took the hand that was in his, and pulled her to the side, so that they were up against the edge of the pews. He then announced, "Alright, people, come in."

She looked to the back of the church as her friends, and even her family began to walk inside and fill up the back pews. She gasped, looked at Draco, and then placed a hand to her mouth to hold in a cry. When most of the pews were already filled by her friends, co-workers, and relatives, Harry Potter walked in, right after her mother and father. She wasn't sure she could feel more surprised than she did when she saw that, but she was wrong. When all of the Weasleys, including Ron walked in, she was beyond surprised. She was flabbergasted. She began to cry.

She placed her forehead on Draco's shoulder. He held her around the waist, but jokingly said, "Don't muss the suit, Granger." She looked up at him, hit him playfully on the chest, and then placed her cheek on his chest again. He held her tighter and whispered, "Now, even though it's a church, I'm not your friend Jesus, so I can't perform miracles...what I'm trying to say, in other words,is that my parents won't be walking through those doors. I told them about us, and they weren't happy or pleased, and frankly, I don't care. Is that okay with you?"

She couldn't speak. She could only nod. He placed a hand under her chin, brought her face up to his, and smiled down on her. He leaned forward and said, "It's 11:59, Granger, shall we?" He kissed her lips softly, sweetly, and with a promise of what was to come.

They joined hands, and though it was slightly after midnight when they were finally announced man and wife, the deed was done. Draco Malfoy got what he wanted for Christmas, and he also got his New Year's wish...to be married, and to have Hermione Granger for his wife. Nothing could be better. When the officiate told him he could kiss the bride, he said, "I don't mind if I do."

Everyone laughed, including her. He kissed one cheek, then the other, then her lips. "You're mine now," he promised, "and I suppose that means I'm yours, too."

"You're all I've ever wanted, Malfoy," she answered. "You're all I've ever wanted.

The End

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**_HAPPY NEW YEARS! I'm on a little holiday, and I wrote this on a borrowed computer, as a lark, on New Year's Day, as a surprise for everyone. Just something short and sweet to wrap up this little story. Thanks!_**


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